Missed Opportunities
by thewandcrafter
Summary: Harry has a problem. That problem is Severus Snape, and the fact that their building friendship has made him acutely aware of his feelings for the man. But it seems that at nearly every turn, he misses the opportunity to turn friendship into something more, as Severus' increasing fame makes him one of the wizarding world's most eligible wizards. Harry/Severus. Ron/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

Missed Opportunities

Chapter One

****My life went up and down based on… him. My emotions, I mean. I knew it was… pathetic, but I couldn't help it.

He didn't know. At least, I didn't think he did – not that I was terribly brilliant at hiding it. I never have been able to. He's always accused me of being a Gryffindor – wearing my heart on my sleeve for all to see, even during the war. He swore it gave others power over me – gave him power over me. The very thought of that made me hard.

But that's only part of it. If it were only about arousal, I could have gotten around it, you know? Found someone else.

I try to figure out when all of this started, but I always end up in the same absurd place – the first day of the first class, his voice mesmerizing all of us as he talked about ensnaring our senses… and the fiery look in his eyes when he thought I was disrespecting him. Gods, he's a potent man! I'm not usually drawn to men who exude such power. They intimidate me, if I'm honest with myself, fling me back to Privet Drive, make me nauseous. But he's different. Maybe it's because I know him – know that that inside that powerful, potent exterior is nobility and courage. It overwhelms me, when I think about it – which is often.

But, of course, I didn't know it then. I thought he was a royal arse, bent on torturing me and anyone else whose public façade he could find a crack in. He always did know how to inflict pain.

He wasn't like that anymore. Not with me. Not with Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna. Not even with Draco. And of course, not with the faculty… or with most of the remaining members of the Order. He still was a right git with potions students, though, but I understand it better now, the need for attention and precision and seriousness. Potions can be dangerous, after all. Plunking a bunch of eleven-year-old witches and wizards in front of heated cauldrons filled with nettles and dragon's blood and aconite and who-knows-what is like handing a five-year-old Muggle a chemistry set – a recipe for disaster of potentially fatal proportions. It's only fear that prevents disaster on a daily basis – that and his own constant attention and swift reflexes that intervene before anyone is seriously hurt when the inevitable occurs. He's exhausted after every day of teaching, and I understand his short temper, now, in ways I never did before.

He moved through the crowd at the Ministry's annual fundraiser for Hogwarts, several summers after his acquittal, with grace and dignity, stopping now and then to take a hand, to smile, even to lean down to kiss some old dowager's cheek. Where Severus Snape developed social graces, I'll never know. I guess he had a lot to think about while he was recovering from the snake bite that almost did him in.

Everyone wants a piece of him. They want to talk with the hero, have their picture taken… They want to touch his arm. He even tolerates it when they ask permission to hug him – almost always ask. I can see him stiffen, but he does allow it, and they never notice that he doesn't hug back. I could see him fight back a startled reaction when someone touches his back or slings an arm across his broad shoulders – not that many can reach that high up – or throw their arms around him without warning. I saw his muscles bunch, his arms tense, knew he was fighting the urge to snarl, to draw his wand and hex the lot of them, to leave.

He looked up and I caught his eye. He nodded and excused himself from the current mass of admirers, and made his way to me, catching two glasses of champagne as a tray passes, held over the head of one of the Ministry's house elves. He wove his way gracefully, like a dancer who has memorized the steps and can anticipate the moves of the other dancers, between tables and chairs and sycophants wanting his attention, until he arrived at my side, and handed me a glass, leaning up against the pillar behind which I'd secluded myself. We touched the rims to each other's, and lifted our glasses in shared amusement. The crystal sang until we quenched the sound with our lips, at the same moment.

"I see you've found your hiding place," he commented, continuing to sip the champagne and looking out over the dance floor, never giving it away that there was someone hiding just behind him.

"They don't much want me, though," I said, taking the opportunity, while his eyes were turned away, to study his profile, the way his robes flowed over him, the elegant, refined way he held the crystal champagne flute, his long, thin fingers… "They'd much rather dance with you."

I'd much rather dance with you, I thought, and lowered my eyes, startled at myself, so that he did not see, and then forced myself to meet his gaze.

He looked back at me and raised his eyebrows. "Do you see me dancing?"

I laughed. "Everything you do is a dance, Severus. I've come to appreciate how… choreographed… your every move is."

He frowned at that, as if I'd said something critical. I looked down, unsure how to make it right. He stepped back slightly so that he was alongside me, leaned in, and his lips, so close I could feel them against my ear, murmured, "And is that how you view our friendship, Mr. Potter? As choreographed? Do you suspect me of manipulation?"

Oh, dear Merlin and all that is in heaven! The man's voice, the warmth radiating off of him, the magic that rolled over me in powerful waves, and his words had me rock hard, and I was terrified he knew… or that I wanted him to know. If he spoke again, I was going to humiliate myself and come – right there, right then.

My breath caught, and I forced a laugh, pulling back enough to slip the flute of sparkling gold between us… mostly to keep myself from leaning forward and latching onto his lips with my own, sucking his lower lip into my mouth, slipping my tongue between his teeth to plunder his mouth… I forced myself to inhale and turn my head, then turned back.

"No," I said sincerely, meeting his eyes. "I don't suspect you of that, Severus."

A flash of something crossed his face, and I didn't know whether it was at my use of his given name, or at what I'd said… whether he needed that reassurance, though I hardly thought it could signify, other than as a matter of pride… of honor.

Severus Snape is an honorable man.

I didn't always know that. I, like most of the students – or most of the Gryffindors, at any rate – thought that he was, as Ron would have said, a greasy git. I thought he was sneaky – which he was, because he had to be, and therefore untrustworthy – which he absolutely wasn't. But I wasn't to know that, then. No one was.

It was in his memories, though – the ones he gave me the night he died, or nearly so… the night I died, or nearly so… the night Voldemort died. It turns out Severus Snape was a man of honor, of integrity, of great sacrifice… a man of such courage as to make you weep. And it did – after the battle, after the funerals, after the shock of survival wore off, after he recovered and was released from St. Mungo's, only to face trial… there was only the need to show his true self to the world.

It broke me, watching him manacled in front of the Wizengamot. He sat perfectly still, perfectly straight, perfectly calm, though how he could have done so with the Wizengamot thirsting to put him to death is beyond me.

Severus Snape is a man of courage, though, and he did not flinch when Shacklebolt banged the gavel to call the court to order. He did not flinch when the charges were read against him, though he bowed his head when they read the charge of the murder of Albus Dumbledore. He did not flinch when voices raised calling for him to be summarily executed. He breathed.

He sat erect, in a well-tailored black suit, white silk shirt visible at the neck, formal Hogwarts robes over it all. He sat silent and still and watchful, but he sat peacefully, breathing through it all. Once, when someone entered with paperwork, the air that blew in from the corridor moved a strand of hair into his face, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. The movement drew every eye, drew mine, and just for a moment, his eyes met mine and his lips quirked upward in the hint of a smile or a smirk, and I thought his eyes warmed, before his attention was called back to Kingsley.

He was acquitted of all charges, Pensieve memories, Dumbledore's letter – delivered to the Minister of Magic and several other members of the Wizengamot mere moments after Voldemort's death, my testimony, and – surprisingly – the testimony of several others, including Neville Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and Arthur Weasley – giving all the proof needed that Snape was, in fact, on the side of the Light all along… that he had, in fact, sacrificed his life – not only by his near-death, but throughout his life – to protect me, the Order, the wizarding world, Muggles, the students of Hogwarts, and to help bring down someone that, in his youth, he had seen as a great leader, but soon thereafter came to recognize for the evil that he was.

_The Daily Prophet_ was surprisingly kind to him. And _The Quibbler_, of course, but the fact that mainstream media suddenly sought out this raven-haired, hawk-nosed, eagle-eyed hero, recognized him as such, and described him in – there's no other word for it – romantic terms, had the public in tears. I'll bet he received a thousand marriage proposals in the weeks following the trial. His face graced the cover of Witch Weekly. He won the Best Smile award, which made me laugh and shake my head, because the accompanying photo captured his typical sneer, but described it as "mysterious, alluring, and secretly sexy."

And he was, damn it! Except the "secretly" part was not so secret after a while.

But before he became Britain's most eligible bachelor and the toast of all of wizarding Europe, almost overnight after the trial, he came to see me. I'd been home, at Grimmauld Place, setting it to rights, and was covered in dust and dirt, wearing dragon-hide gloves and Bermuda shorts, sweat covering my face and making my t-shirt stick to my chest and back. Kreacher and Winky insisted on helping, but I'd sent them off on errands. I needed the physical workout to keep my mind occupied, and I did battle with the house to fight off my own demons, still plaguing me weeks after the battle. It would take years, but I didn't know that, then.

The doorbell rang, and I scrambled up from where I'd been wrestling a bit of mouldy wallpaper, impregnated with dark spells, off the library wall. How the books hadn't turned to mouldy mush, I don't know. Preservation charm, maybe. In any case, I pushed to my feet with a groan and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my wrist (leaving a smear of dirt and dust that I didn't know about until after he'd gone), and went to the door.

Grimmauld Place was still Order Headquarters – not that anything felt terribly urgent anymore, what with Voldemort gone and all, but there were still Death Eaters to track down, and… I think we all just needed to be together, from time to time, and the Ministry still felt like enemy territory, despite Kingsley doing his best to chase out negative elements that had permeated its hierarchy. He'd gotten Umbridge out, and held on charges, only the previous week.

I expected someone from the Order, then. And it was, of course. I mean – he was.

I pulled the door open. He had turned to scan the street, still on guard, still alert, still cautious. I realized later that he was still guarding me, still had that protective instinct. He turned back when he heard the door scrape against the threshold. I think my mouth dropped open. I was probably gaping like a fish. I certainly was stunned to see him standing there. The war was over, and he had never liked me to begin with, and there was no need for… for us to have contact with each other, once the trial was over. I thought it likely I'd never see him again, that he'd never want to see me again. It was one of the great bits of unfinished business that had me tossing and turning and falling into tears of guilt and remorse and loss, nighttimes.

He looked me over and a corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Fetching, Potter, as always," he said, but it lacked its usual sting, for some reason.

I recovered enough to stammer out, "P-Professor! What are you…? I mean… come in!" I stepped back and gestured with one glove-covered hand, but he stayed where he was, on the stoop.

"I can see I've arrived in the middle of your… housewifely chores, Potter," he said, and again, it did not strike me with the intent to cut or wound, but rather as a humorous comment. I wondered if having been in his memories had changed the way I… heard him. "I shall not disturb your cleaning schedule." He hesitated.

"Did… did you need something?" I asked, and frowned. Of course he didn't need anything. Not from me, anyway. What could he possibly… oh! "I… I don't have them anymore. Kingsley… the Wizengamot…"

He frowned. "What are you talking about, boy?"

I flinched at that. He noticed.

"Your memories. That's what you came for, isn't it? But I don't have them anymore."

He was shaking his head before I finished. "Kingsley returned them to me immediately after the trial. I did not come for that."

"Why are you here, then?" I asked, bewildered. "I'm sorry – I don't mean to be rude. Are you sure you won't come in?"

"Another time, perhaps," he said. It wasn't until he left that I realized how… odd that was. "I understand you are not planning to return to school in fall."

I'm sure my confusion was evident, because he went on. "You have not completed your NEWT-level classes. I think that unwise of you. I came… Professor McGonagall wished me to let you know that… the faculty would welcome you back for your final year – you and your friends."

"You came to tell me that in person? Besides… what's the point? I can't be an Auror. My marks aren't high enough."

He looked momentarily confused by that. "I understood you continued in beginning NEWT-level courses your sixth year."

"Yes, but… that was with Slughorn teaching Potions. I heard you're going back. I didn't meet criteria for your NEWT-level class."

He looked at me steadily for several long moments. "I would like to invite you to… participate in my class, Mr. Potter."

"Why?" I demanded. My hands had fallen to my sides, and the scrub brush I'd been holding tickled my leg below my shorts.

He looked away for a moment, as if searching the street for threats, but his eyes were unfocused. When he turned back, he searched my eyes, instead, without Legilimancy, and said, "I believe I owe you."

I frowned, wondering if this was a backhanded way of getting rid of me – he would pay off some debt he believed he owed me, and then could wipe his hands of me. I felt my chest begin to tighten at the thought, and he must have seen something in my eyes, because he added, "I owe you my life… and my freedom." I knew he did not mean from prison. He meant from Voldemort.

I looked at this man and was overwhelmed, again, by all he had done, all he had given, all he had sacrificed. Every time he had protected me, aided me, without my knowledge, flashed through my mind, and I took a step forward and looked up into those pools of black ink that pass for his eyes, and willed him to read me, though I could feel my eyes fill with tears. "I believe, sir," I whispered, "that it is I who owe you."

Something flashed in his eyes at that – surprise… and denial, maybe... something warm, in any case, that made me glad I had said it. He raised a hand to me, though I do not know what he intended to do, because he dropped it, without breaking eye contact, and said, "If you complete my Potions and distinguish yourself on your NEWTs, I shall consider your debt paid."

I swallowed. My plans – or my lack of plans – were changed in that instant, and possibilities that I thought were closed to me suddenly opened. Not the Auror thing. Even then, I was unsure of that particular path, though it still held some appeal. But… having something defined to do for the ensuing year, rather than knocking about in the empty box that was Grimmauld Place, suddenly made my uncertainties and dread fall away, and I swear, I could have kissed him – or at least kissed his feet – for that, in that moment.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered, because to attempt any more volume than that would have had me choking out my reply over my tears.

He drew himself up to stand more erectly, nodded sharply, and said, "We will see you September first, then." He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, but settled for, "Don't be late."

He was gone before I nodded my obedience.

I think it took me ten minutes to realize I was standing at the open door, sunshine streaming in, lighting the entrance hall that just a half hour earlier had seemed unremittingly gloomy. I had both a grin and tears on my face, and after I finally shut the door, I spun in a circle and whooped, tossing the brush nearly up to the ceiling of the two-story entrance, caught it, spun again, and turned to dash to the floo to call Ron and Hermione.


	2. Chapter 2

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Two

And so – the three of us went back to Hogwarts, even Ron, though he had dispensation to floo back to Diagon Alley to help George at the shop and visit the family. McGonagall arranged those exemptions for every returning eighth year student – we were all eighteen, after all. As I had no family I wanted to visit, I spent weekends at school or visited the Burrow. Once, after they'd recovered enough of their memories, I went home with Hermione to visit her parents, which was truly lovely. Mostly, though, I spent weekends reading in the library, or working on projects for McGonagall, things related to the still-needed repair work on the school.

Often enough, Severus – I didn't call him Severus then, yet, of course – and I would be paired up to perform some complex bit of magic. Our magic was compatible, it turned out, and that facilitated the more complex workings required to work with the magic of the castle itself. Setting the wards around the Chamber of Secrets, after we'd plumbed and mapped that subterranean labyrinth and harvested what we could from the basilisk for Severus' potions, for example. Or opening the Room of Requirement, to investigate whether the Fiendfyre that Crabbe had set had burnt itself out, and to what end.

And Potions class.

I fell in love with Severus in Potions class that year. I didn't realize, at first, that that was what was happening. I only knew that I wanted to get it right, this time, that I wanted to honor this man who had sacrificed so much for me… for us, to express, in the only coin I thought he would accept, my respect and gratitude… that I wanted his respect. I don't think I have paid more attention to anything in my life – other than his face and hands and voice any time he sits across from me at supper – but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Hermione figured it out first, of course, and Ron last. She elbowed me in the middle of some class, the content of which totally escapes me now, as it totally escaped me then. We were set to brew… something. Seventh year potions was much less structured than previous years, and included potion creation and theory, rather than simply following given recipes and instructions. Severus set us to exploring the difference stirring more or less, clockwise or anti-clockwise, varying one nettle less or more, heating the potions base before adding ingredients or heating them all together, and other variations, made in the final product. He handed us practical problems, and had us work together to devise a brand-new potion to address them. He had us identify problems ourselves, propose a potion, give the rationale for every ingredient and every step – and then outline the same for the counter-potion. We analyzed potions forward, backward, and inside out. It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. It was, for me, an act of love and devotion…

And some of that must have shown on my face, this particular class. Severus was up front, his own potion sending steam in curls up to the ceiling, where it was expelled by the positive-pressure air vents I had never bothered to notice when I was younger. I watched him as he lectured us on timing, listened to his voice, soft as music, cutting as a boline. There was such… rhythm… such grace… to everything he did, and I don't think I had ever realized how utterly brilliant the man was, and how completely wasted that intellect was here, with a roomful of bewildered eighteen year olds. He should be out lecturing his colleagues, leading the wizarding world in potions, writing for universities, researching, becoming rich, sharing his knowledge with the world, I was thinking.

Hermione dug her elbow into my side, and my own elbow, which had been supporting my chin, slipped off our table, and I hissed, "What?" Severus' eyes flicked to us, and a frown of disapproval and disappointment flashed across his face.

"If you have other things to do that are more important, Miss Granger, Mister Potter, perhaps you should find yourselves elsewhere."

"No, sir!" I said, horrified. "I'm sorry Professor. My elbow slipped."

The disappointment did not leave his eyes, but he turned them back to his cauldron and the rest of the class, all of whom were, I think, stunned. It was the first negative thing he had said to me all year, in class or out.

I sought him out that evening, making my hesitant way to his quarters, trembling before I took a deep breath and knocked on his door. After a few moments, I heard footsteps, and then he opened the door and looked at me, quickly hiding his surprise.

"What is it, Potter?"

My mouth was suddenly dry. Despite working together magically, this was the closest we had stood, face-to-face, since he had appeared at my door, months before. I finally unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. He'd taken a stance that clearly indicated he was waiting.

My heart pounded in my chest, and some part of my brain inventoried… his raven-blue-black hair, the broad shoulders that strained his robes, the thin lips that were, I realized dazedly, nevertheless beautifully shaped, the long, lean fingers of the hands that lay on his crossed arms…

He raised an eyebrow, but was clearly not going to rescue me. I finally got myself unstuck by breaking eye contact, focusing somewhere around his chin. Oh, Merlin – his mouth!

"I… wanted to apologize for my inattention in your class, Professor. My mind… drifted. I won't let it happen again, Sir. I meant no disrespect," I said quietly. Inside, I was clenched in hope and fear, Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me again!

He let me stand there, staring at his cravat, his mouth – set in a thin line, his chest, his fingers… anywhere but at his face, until I finally mustered the courage to look up and make eye contact. He was watching me, bemusement and something else evident in his narrowed eyes. Finally, he said, as softly as I had spoken, "I trust you did not, Mister Potter, and that you will focus suitably to the level required to… exceed my expectations… in this subject. Will you not?"

"I will, Sir," I breathed. Dear Merlin, was he going to forgive me?

"Then all will be well," he said. "Goodnight, Mister Potter."

And then the door was shut, and I stood there, shocked, finding that, once again, the damned man had brought me to tears from… from nothing… and I turned and slid down against his door, and found myself sobbing in grief and relief and confusion.

And when I got back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione had explained it to me, and everything fell into place. I loved him. And I so, so wanted him to love me. And… I was eighteen, and he was, by then, thirty-nine, and a man. A gloriously brilliant, beautiful, courageous, honorable man, the likes of whom I could never, never live up to, and it was hopeless, and I was utterly lost, and utterly bereft, and utterly elated, all at the same time. I hadn't even dated, yet. Not a boy – or a man. I hadn't known I should have been.

I broke up with Ginny the next day, though I did not tell her why. She said she knew that I wasn't in it… wasn't really available to be in a relationship just then, and she put it down to the aftermath of the war, and I did not disillusion her, and told her not to wait for me, because I didn't know if I'd ever be over it, and she said she loved me and would always be my friend, and we cried, and it was sad, and it was a relief.

My grades dipped a bit, even in Potions, for a while, and Severus looked at me sternly and shook his head, and I pulled myself together and got back on track, and tried to limit my adoration and lustful, lingering looks at his ever-more-elegant-to-my-eyes form to the Great Hall and to random corridor encounters. I could never make them more than that, no matter how I tried… could never waylay him, as if he somehow could track my movements, and was avoiding me. Our occasional assignments from McGonagall were increasingly infrequent, and as I no longer provoked him – or any other professor – I never had the dubious pleasure of landing in detention with him, so I had to be satisfied with no more contact with him than any other student had. It drove me crazy.

I suppose the upside to that was that I was nearly completely free to fantasize about him in my bed at night. The first time his image floated before me, his hands wrapped oh-so-lovingly around a crystal stirring rod, caressing it, while his voice uttered seductive instructions too low for me to make out, I was arching off my bed, thick strings of come shooting out of me, before I even realized what I was doing. I was not embarrassed. Not at all. I was just in despair… desperate. And it made Potions class torture, because I was at least half-hard, at least half the time, the remainder of the year, terrified that he would come to inspect my work, lean over me, his hot breath brushing my neck and my ear, and find my erection pointing to the object of my desire. Had there been NEWT exams in wanking, and Snape the examiner, I'm sure I would have Exceeded his Expectations.

I did in Potions. There was no way I was going to leave Hogwarts with anything less than an E in Potions, and I really wanted an O. Hermione and I studied our arses off, starting in January, and by the time NEWTs came around in early May, I was murmuring potion recipes in my sleep, wanking off to imaginary lessons in which Severus stirred a steaming cauldron, his hands ever more suggestively gripping and releasing thick, red crystal rods, murmuring instructions in the most seductive way, his velvet voice sliding up and down my aching cock, while I murmured promises of excellence and "Yes, sir. Anything, sir… Anything! Ohhhh, fuck!" and added my hot spume to his brew while he looked on in satisfaction and licked his lips, his hot eyes fixed on my face or my cock as I came.

It was torture. And I will neither confirm nor deny that I was achingly hard as I took dictation from the Severus Snape in my head when I wrote my potions exam, and later in the practical exam, when I stirred my own potion with, cruelly enough, the thick, blood-red, white-tipped crystal rod the potion called for. Oh, god!

I could tell from the look on Severus' face, at supper, that I had done well, and that he was pleased. As it turned out, I had managed – I'm sure to the shock of both of us, and possibly the entire faculty – an Outstanding. The remainder of the year passed quickly, if anticlimactically (not that I didn't continue to climax), and the last week, Hermione, Ron, Neville and I, along with the rest of the eighth years, being let loose from classes but still awaiting graduation, headed into Hogsmeade, discussing, among other things, whether it was done to give a parting gift to our favorite professors or Heads of Houses. Gryffindor had a new Head of House that year, since McGonagall took over as Headmistress when Severus refused the post, and none of us had had so much as a single conversation with our new Head, but we all were fond of Minerva, and wanted to give her a parting gift. Hermione had bonded with Professor Sinistra, and Neville with Sprout, of course. Surprisingly, Ron had really connected with Madame Hooch. I had sort of left Quidditch behind me, other than the odd pick-up game with friends, or with the Weasleys when I visited the Burrow.

And I… I wanted to get something – something – for Snape. Severus. For Severus.

Who was bloody fucking hard to buy for, when it came down to it. Because… no potions book or bit of equipment was enough, somehow, to express… anything. I wandered Hogsmeade, finally giving up, and wondered if I dared ask Minerva's advice, alternately determined to do so and certain that I'd be totally humiliated if I did, that I'd give it all away. I did find something for her, though, and had to be content with that, as we made our way back to the castle after nightfall.

The last morning of the term, just before we had to leave to catch the train, I rushed through my final packing, and raced out of the dorm, answering Ron's "Where you going, mate?" with a hasty, "I'll be back. Shrink my trunk for me, will you?" I tore through the school, shoving my way through the ever-more-crowded corridors until I reached the Great Hall. Good. No Snape yet. That had to mean he was still in the dungeons, didn't it? I still had time to catch him – I hoped.

I gulped air as I stood in front of his door. It had been months since I'd last stood here. Once I stopped gasping for breath, I raised my hand to knock – and the door opened, and Severus strode out. He obviously didn't expect anyone to be standing there – he plowed into me and knocked me on my arse.

"Potter! What the bloody hell are you doing down here?"

"Good morning to you, too, sir," I said wryly, getting to my feet and rubbing my bum. I noticed his eyes followed my hand for a moment before they came back to my face.

"Well, what is it?"

He could have been impatient, but he wasn't. His hand had gone out to help me to my feet before I'd noticed, but I had scrambled to my feet, and part of me mourned the lost opportunity to touch him. So I held my hand out. He looked at it, and then back at my face.

"I… I just wanted to say goodbye, sir, and…" I took a breath and decided to chance it. "I was wondering if you might join me for dinner… in London… at a restaurant. Say, on Friday next." It came out in a rush, and I think I turned three shades of pinkish red, to judge by the smirk on his face. He covered it up swiftly, though, and his face turned thoughtful. His eyes warmed as he looked at me, or maybe it was a trick of the light.

"It just so happens I need to visit my solicitor in London within the next week or two," he said. "I suppose dinner… in a restaurant… would be a reasonable end to my day."

I stared at him. He said 'yes'! Oh my god, he said YES! "Wow!" I said. Brilliant, Harry! Real mature! But I couldn't help it. I grinned at him. "Good! Great! Yeah. I'll… I'll just… I'll owl you, shall I? With… with where to meet?"

He nodded without saying a word, though I seem to remember that he looked distinctly amused.

"Great," I repeated, wiping my hands on the back of my jeans. "So…" I stuck my hand out again, and he took it. His hand was dry – I'm sure mine must have been clammy, but he didn't say anything or give any sign that he noticed. His was warm as he returned my grip, not too firmly, definitely not tentatively… more like a friendly handshake… and then he held it a moment longer when I would have let go, and waited until I looked him in the eye.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," he said softly, a smile in his voice and in his eyes, and then he nodded, let go, and said, "Friday next. I will await your owl," and turned, brushed past me, and made his way to the Great Hall while I stood there, once again gaping like a fish gasping for air.

Once he was out of sight, I jumped, spun around mid-flight, and punched my fist in the air. Yes! I have a dinner date with Severus Snape! Oh my god – what am I going to wear? Where are we going to go? WHERE'S HERMIONE?


	3. Chapter 3

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Three

The next two weeks, I settled into Grimmauld Place, visited the Burrow, Headed to Gringotts' for an accounting of my property (more complicated now than when I was younger, since I had inherited the Black estate and had the award money from the Order of Merlin), and investigated the idea I had slowly developed about what I wanted to do next. I convinced Hermione to take time away from her own plans to take me shopping for clothes, and to help me select a place for… what I hoped would be my first… dinner… with…Severus. I whispered the name to myself, and practiced saying it with a very amused Hermione, though I knew I would not dare use it unless he granted me the privilege. I owled Severus with my chosen spot – in Muggle London – and held my breath until I received his one-word answer – "Acceptable."

The night before our… meeting… Hermione sat on my bed while I tried on one pair of trousers, one shirt, one tie after another, shaking at the very thought of somehow getting it wrong. But we'd taken the time to walk into the restaurant we finally chose, to see what the customary attire was – not formal, but at least shirt and tie. I blathered non-stop until I finally talked myself into a near panic-attack, and Hermione took me by the hands, sat me down, and said, "Harry. You have to stop this! You cannot place so much emphasis on this one evening. It's just dinner, Harry."

"Yeah – but, Hermione…"

"It's just dinner," she emphasized. "I know what you're hoping, Harry, but really… you just graduated. And while you're very… delectable…" She looked me up and down in a way that made me squirm, until we both laughed. "…you're also his student." She went on before I could protest. "I know. You just graduated. And you defeated the Dark Lord. And you're a powerful wizard, Harry, but Severus Snape is an adult man, and you – and Ron, and Neville, and Luna, and I, and all of us – are still students in his mind." She reached over to brush the hair out of my eyes. "Give it time, Harry. Give him time to see you as something different. Be something different, for a while, first, all right? I don't want to see your heart broken because you rushed in before he was ready."

She was right, of course. What was I thinking? That we'd have dinner and… what? That he'd come home with me to Grimmauld Place and shag me senseless? And even if he did, was that what I really wanted? Well, yes – but it was not all I wanted. It was not even the main thing I wanted. Which was, I realized, a relationship built on trust and friendship and respect. How could I be a friend, earn his trust and respect, if all I kept thinking about was how much I wanted to get into his pants – or how much I wanted him to get into mine? But what did I have to offer a man like that, in terms of friendship?

All I could do was to be myself… and maybe somewhere along the way, that would be enough. After all, we had worked well together, at the start of the year… and I had excelled in Potions… had worked my heart out, to meet his standards. Maybe it was enough to get on with.

I calmed down. And Hermione, conversely, took a turn at freaking, and made me promise to check in afterwards, no matter how the evening went. I promised.

During the day, that Friday, I met with Robards, in the Auror's Office of the Ministry, because I thought he deserved a more personal notice that I was not going to follow through with the Auror's training that had been offered to me repeatedly over the past year, and then with Kingsley, when Robards appealed to him to change my mind. Kingsley, however, was much more accepting of my decision. On impulse, I told him what I had been thinking about doing, and he was interested, supportive, and surprisingly, handed me a card for someone he knew who could help, and offered to put in a word for me. I thanked him profusely, took him up on the offer, and promised to let him know how I was getting along.

When I went to shake his hand as I left his office, he said, "My regards to Severus."

"Excuse me?"

"He mentioned the two of you were dining together this evening," Shacklebolt said, and something in his eyes told me that he knew more than I was comfortable with him knowing - about my motivation, at least.

I laughed and tried to cover it up with, "Yeah. I figure I owe him a dinner or two, given everything he did for me over the years."

Kingsley laughed, shook my hand, and wished me luck. I wasn't sure what he meant by that.

I arrived early, unsure of whether to wait in the vestibule for Snape, or to go in, but that was decided when a gloved doorman gestured me in the door, and then further taken out of my hands when the hostess suggested I be seated. "It's Mr. Potter? And who are you expecting?"

"Professor… uh… Severus Snape."

"Professor Snape. If you would describe him for me, I'll keep a look-out for him."

"Oh. He's… he's quite tall… dark hair, dark eyes. He's…" Mysterious. "He's… striking."

She smiled at me. "A tall, dark, striking gentleman. I'll bring him to you."

Oh, god! What am I doing?

Calm down!

Shortly thereafter, as I sat realizing there were more utensils in front of me than I knew what to do with, I saw him wending his way through tables, following the hostess, who smiled and nodded at me. "This must be your young gentleman, then," she said to him, as I rose to greet him. We shook hands, and he looked at her and nodded. He was attired in a black (of course) three-piece (of course) suit that looked like it had been made for him, and I added "elegant" to my list of adjectives for the man. Dear Merlin in heaven, he was, even then, maybe especially then, so far out of my league…

Oh dear god… I just touched him… again, some part of my brain noted. I tried to lock it down… successfully.

Thank Merlin, Severus was… must have been… feeling generous that day. "Good evening," he said as he sat and flicked the serviette over his impeccably tailored Muggle trousers. He looked around, and then back at me, a smile in his eyes, if not on his lips. "More than adequate, Potter. Italian would have been my first choice, as well."

Score one, team Potter.

What I remember most about that evening was that, after a glass of wine, with Severus vouching for me, as I was barely old enough to drink and had no Muggle identification on me, I relaxed enough to talk with him without stammering.

"How did your meeting with your solicitor go?" I asked, then winced, thinking it none of my business. But he did not take it amiss.

"Quite well, thank you. Were you in London for the day yourself, or did you come to the city especially for our… dinner?"

"Oh, I had business at the Ministry," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" It was an invitation. I took a breath, let it out, and told him some of my plans, watching his face carefully to capture his reaction. Not that I had a chance of doing that, given his life as a double agent. But he kept his "politely interested" face throughout, until I started to wax enthusiastic about what I hoped I could do in my chosen profession. Then, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and queried me about what I knew about the art so far, and what had led me there, and whether I was serious about my pursuit of mastery.

His face was… alive, expressive, intense. The candles that lit our table flickered over the planes of his face adding depth and warmth, and lit his eyes. If I hadn't already, I'd have fallen for him that night. Severus Snape, alive, enthusiastic, unguarded, open, engaged was… staggeringly beautiful.

I don't remember what I ate, what he ate, what we had for pudding… Only that the evening ended with a nearly-quiet, nearly empty restaurant around us, and that we parted reluctantly, certainly on my part, and I got the impression that it might have been the same on his part as well. I recognized the moment he realized that he – that we – had enjoyed our time together.

"This was… quite enjoyable, Potter," he said, as we stood outside the restaurant. He gestured up the street to the nearest apparition spot. "That'll take you home."

I nodded. "I know. Are you…?"

"I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a night or two. I have some other things to arrange."

"You never told me what it is you're arranging," I noted.

He smiled – actually smiled, at that. "That is true." He searched my face, and narrowed his eyes, which warmed as he looked at me. "I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to go public with my plans."

"Your plans? Are… are you leaving Hogwarts, sir?" The idea was… shocking… stunning.

He considered me, pursed his lips – which did not even register, I was so shocked, and finally said, "If I do, you will be amongst the first to know." He smiled again, just a tiny quirk of his lips, but a clear softening around his eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Potter. And again… my thanks for a very pleasant dinner."

"Good night, sir," I murmured. I watched him walk off a few steps before calling, "Professor?" He turned back. "Perhaps we could do it again, sometime."

A slow smile changed his features into something ethereal in the moonlight. "Perhaps we could, Potter." He turned and walked off again, reached the apparition point, turned and vanished with a tight crack.

"Wow!" I said to myself. "Oh my god… where's Hermione?"

Hermione dragged Ron through the floo with her, no matter that it was one in the morning. The first thing he said when he saw me was, "Blimey, Harry! Snape?!"

I laughed weakly, sank to the sofa, and put my head in my hands, before looking up at him, and then to Hermione, who was practically vibrating with anxiety, which made any of my residual tension completely dissipate. My grin at the clear question on her face turned into a chuckle, and then a laugh, and soon all three of us were laughing until tears rolled down our faces and we were holding our sides.

"Oh my god! I just had a date... with Severus Snape!"

Ron gulped. "A date? Harry… did you ask him out on a date?" The idea stunned him, and Hermione and I laughed even harder, while Ron ranted about how mental I was, and suggested he contact St. Mungo's to see if they had room in the permanently spell-damaged ward for me. Still, he was grinning when he said it, and any fear I had of facing his censure was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Four

The next two years were a whirlwind of activity. Hermione went into training to become a solicitor, and Ron completed Auror training. Their engagement was more of an "it's about bloody time" than a surprise to anyone. Ginny toured constantly with the Hollyhead Harpies, and the rowdiness that accompanied any professional sports team melded well with the general chaos that was the Burrow, and gave Molly a whole brood of females to mother, easing the loss of Fred just a bit, I think. Neville sat for his mastery in Herbology and passed. Luna was off hunting some unheard-of creature or seven with her father and the grandson – or was it great-grandson? – of Newt Scamander. Draco had taken over Malfoy Enterprises and was shaking up the wizarding world by devoting a majority of the Malfoy fortune to philanthropic enterprises.

I pursued my studies and apprenticeship, and learned to treat the burns, and eye and lung problems that accompanied accidental fume exposure… and learned not to make the mistakes that caused those in the first place.

And Severus and I continued to meet for dinner.

We met nearly every fortnight or so. I can't remember exactly how that came to be, only that when I sent an owl saying I would be in Scotland, two weeks after our first dinner, he returned it with a name and a time, and we met at some out-of-the-way pub. It wasn't exactly Muggle, but then, no place in Ireland and Scotland is completely wizard-free. If ever there was a place to be "out" as a wizard, Ireland and Scotland would be two such places. Nevertheless, both of us preferred to keep our meetings free from intrusion.

We had an object lesson in that, two years or so after we left Hogwarts. Snape had, indeed, retired as the Potions Professor, a fact that had Minerva wringing her hands and desperately seeking a replacement that was even half as qualified. Not that there were many of those around. Severus really was a potions genius, as it turns out. Not that I hadn't figured that out already.

He had left to engage in research – a much more suitable pursuit for someone of his brilliance and his… love of children. And in the process of refining Wolfsbane Potion, finding a cure for Spattergroit, and saving the world from a disastrously erroneously conceived fertility potion by catching the error in Potions Monthly, he became the toast of Europe.

It started with an invitation to address the International Potions Guild at its annual convention in Geneva. He had just published the results of his research into the Wolfsbane Potion, and was due to receive an award from some international werewolf liberation group. Apparently, in some parts of Europe, werewolves were being hunted to extinction. Severus' potion was going to save lives, and make the monthly transition every werewolf suffered from nearly painless – as well as utterly safe. The fact that he had found a way to preserve the potion so that it did not need to be brewed immediately before being ingested gave werewolves unprecedented freedom to live lives that would be almost completely normal.

"You're going to go, aren't you?" I asked, when he told me of the invitation. We were sitting at a linen-covered table at a brasserie in Paris – it was Severus' turn to pick, and he was determined to expand my "appalling palate", as he referred to my taste in food, which ran, more often than not, to steak-and-kidney pie or American "hot dogs", though I never subjected him to such.

He tapped his lips with a long, pointed finger and considered the question. "And why do you think I should accept the invitation?"

"Well, first of all, you deserve the award," I began, continuing despite his snort. "And second of all, it gives you an opportunity to make contacts, see if you can fund some of that other research you've been talking about."

Ah. There I had him.

He pondered me over his glass of wine – something he'd made me pronounce, and which he'd promised I would enjoy. I did enjoy it. I just didn't know the difference between this particular wine and the one we'd shared the last time, at the restaurant I had selected and which he had pronounced "not fit for mongrels" once we were done. Most of the time, my choices fared better than that, in his estimation, but this time, he really was disgusted, and had been proven right when I suffered abdominal pains for three days straight, afterwards. Hermione or Ron must have contacted him, or maybe Kreacher and Winky, because he sent a vial of cure via owl, on the third day of misery, along with a note that said, "Don't be a fool, Potter. Ask next time." He gracefully neglected to say "I told you so."

In any case, as we sat in Paris in a restaurant that, in all likelihood, would not cause me stomach cramps and worse, he listened to my second rationale, and a light lit in his eyes. He nodded approvingly and said, "We shall make a Slytherin out of you yet, Mr. Potter."

I felt inordinately flattered. "No need to insult me," I huffed, and he laughed and lifted his glass. I touched mine to his, and he said, "To Geneva."

"To Geneva," I said. "You deserve it, Severus."

I froze. It was the first time I had uttered his name – his given name – in his presence, other than when introducing him to people. It was the first time I had addressed him as 'Severus'. He had stilled, too, and I waited for him to chide me for taking a liberty he hadn't granted. I opened my mouth to apologize, and then realized he was smiling at me – as much as he ever smiled, that is, which means mostly that the area around his eyes crinkled and his mouth took a less severe line.

"Two years, three months, and seven days," he said, his eyes… twinkling at me.

"Huh?" I said, eloquent as always, when I was confused.

"It has only taken you two years, three months, and seven days to get there… Harry."

Oh.

Dear.

Merlin.

He was waiting for me. All that time, he had been waiting for me – to get to it. To discover that… he no longer saw me as a student… to realize that he saw me as an adult, as… not an equal, exactly, but… at least as someone worthy of… his friendship, maybe… ready for something other than a teacher-student relationship. He had been waiting for me… to grab hold of my adulthood, rather than waiting for him to grant it to me, and to meet him as a peer.

When I could breathe again, and manage to keep the tears in my eyes from spilling over, I looked up at him over my still untouched glass of wine, and tried not to choke as I repeated, "To Geneva."

But… it seemed I had left it too late. He came home from Geneva not only with the funding for his next project, but with a boyfriend. And cover spreads in every wizarding magazine published in both Europe and the Americas. And more invitations – to professional events, to balls and fund-raisers, to premiers in both the Muggle and Wizard entertainment worlds. His talk had been that brilliant… and the wizarding world on three continents – at least – had taken note, and once again, the tall, darkly elegant, mysterious Severus Snape was in the spotlight, and shortly, was acclaimed Europe's Most Eligible Wizard.

Hermione and Ron increased their visits to Grimmauld Place. I know they were worried about me. Every damned time Snape attended some damned event or another, pictures of him and his… escort… would be front-and-center in whatever publications had covered the event. And every time, I swore I didn't care, that he was entitled to his… success… to his happiness… that I was glad for him. I promised myself to read the articles and not examine the pictures in excruciating detail, looking to see the degree of intimacy between him and whatever man had the honor of being at his side. But that was hopeless.

And every time, after Ron had flooed back home, Hermione would look at me and say, "Oh, Harry…" and hold out her arms, and I'd fly into them and sob until the shoulder of her robe or jumper was soaked with my despair.

After he came home from Geneva, I had expected him to… I guess to dump me. Not that those words made sense. After all, we weren't dating. I don't know what, exactly, we were doing, but… it never ended in a kiss, never ended with his strong arms around me, never ended with me inviting him up to my… bed… or, heaven forfend, him inviting me. I didn't even know where he was living – which turned out to be a brownstone not far from Grimmauld Place, but I didn't know that until much later.

In any case, for some reason, I expected him to be entirely… occupied… by the handsome man with the striking features, wavy brown hair, and blue eyes with whom he had been paired in the press. But it was his turn to select a restaurant, again, and his owl tapped on my window on the Thursday after his triumph, with the name of a restaurant – the first place we had dined, in Muggle London. I fought down my jealousy and sadness and an inexplicable rage, and called Hermione. I needed reinforcements, if I was going to dress to meet him. She and Ron understood without my having to say a word about it, and came to spend the day with me, then helped me get ready.

"Hey," Ron said, just as I was about to leave by the front door.

"What?"

Ron just stood there, looking uncomfortable and sympathetic, and then said, "He's still a greasy git. And you're my best mate. If he hurts you, I'll make him wish Nagini had succeeded."

I choked out a laugh, and Ron thumped me on the shoulder, and for once, Hermione did not berate him for being obnoxious about Snape. "It'll be all right, Harry. You'll see. Just be his friend – like always."

Like always. Except it wasn't quite like always. Because Severus Snape, who had never been paired with anyone since… Oh, gods! … since my mum… had a boyfriend. Still, we met at the Italian place, and he looked good, flushed with success and happiness and…sex, my mind supplied, viciously. I didn't even know if it was true. All I knew was that, by god, if Snape were my boyfriend, I'd be shagging his eyes out of his head, making him come and scream and beg for it, leaving him raw and sore and still wanting more. I grit my teeth and met him at the table.

We weren't there long enough for our order to be served. In the space of fifteen minutes, we were accosted by no fewer than twelve witches and wizards, wanting a photograph, an autograph, a potion, a cure, a damned kiss, for Merlin's sake! The owner bustled over when Severus raised a hand to summon him. "We'll take our order as delivery, I think," he said, getting up and pulling his robe tighter around him. "Please send me the bill." He looked at me.

"Your place or mine?" he asked, apologetically.

The owner fended off two people who were approaching at a rapid pace, now they saw Severus on his feet, apparently ready to make his escape.

"Mine," I said without hesitation, knowing how close Grimmauld Place was. He nodded, and I gave the owner the delivery address. We walked out the door, and strode as quickly as we could to the apparition point. He held out his arm, and I took him by the elbow and Apparated us away. It was not exactly how I had envisioned inviting him to my home… but it suited, in the end.

After we finished our meal, and he had talked out his discomfort and shock, and we'd discussed his trip – totally neglecting to talk about the brown-haired man, I said, "As long as you're here, can I show you around?"

He'd been to Grimmauld Place before, of course, when it had served as the headquarters for the Order, during the war, but I had made changes, and now that he was here, I was eager for him to see them. Especially my laboratory/studio.

I showed him the interior, first. He wanted to linger in the library, which was brighter, more welcoming, and filled with not only the texts that had been here when he had last been, but also tomes from my own, building collection. But that would give it away, so I pulled him off, promising him a brandy in the library after we finished our tour. He looked back, his eyes lit with an acquisitive need, as we left the room, and I laughed under my breath, anticipating his surprise when he discovered the nature of my additions.

He made appropriately appreciative sounds as I showed him incidental updates, saving the best for last. I opened the French doors that led to the solarium, where I had a number of more delicate plants growing, but I gave him little time to investigate, crossing the room to throw open the doors to the garden.

I'd planted a range of things here. Or more accurately, Neville had planted them, with me tagging along and assisting as he directed. We'd chosen the plants together, though – basic potions ingredients, kitchen herbs and vegetables, and those plants necessary for the potions I used in my work. I leaned against the wall surrounding the garden, a spot without plants clambering over the wall, and watched him catalogue the contents of my garden, his face wrinkling in perplexity, and was delighted that I had confounded him.

"Come on," I said, gesturing him back toward the house. "One last thing."

We descended the stairs to the kitchen. I waved at Kreacher and Winky. "Brandy and afters in the library in…" I looked at Severus, considering. "… twenty minutes, would you please, Kreacher?" I could feel my eyes sparkling in amusement at Snape's curiosity. He was restraining himself, I could tell, but I knew he wanted to know what had me so excited.

I tapped some bricks next to the fireplace and murmured the incantation that let me through the wards to my workspace without having to reset them after me, reached out and took his hand, and pulled him through the wards and the door that opened behind them.

His gasp was enough for me. I stopped a few paces inside, dropped his arm, crossed my own, and turned to see his reaction. His face shifted through shock, amazement, curiosity, and longing, and with a laugh, I gestured permission. "Go ahead. Look. Only, stay away from that corner – I have something brewing over there." He threw me a disgusted look, and I laughed. He prowled my domain while I inhaled deeply, at my ease here more than I was anywhere else in the world, even my bedchambers, despite the fact that I wanked there nearly nightly…

Lusting after this man.

"No one is allowed in here," I said, watching him peer at the crystal vials lined up where they caught the light coming from the single window I allowed myself. Other vials sat protected in darkness, and some sat in water or protected by herbs or liquid brews. I pointed each of them out, and he nodded in appreciation, murmuring approval or a question from time to time.

I pointed out the four sequential furnaces, the lathe and the grinders, and named for him the blowpipes, mandrels, marvers, and other tools of my trade, and described the processes that took place at each station, while he listened raptly, as I tried not to hold my breath at his abandonment of any façade or pretense, and his face became an unguarded study in the joy of intellectual curiosity. Dear god, you're beautiful, I thought, and then shook myself out of that to answer some question or another.

I moved to check on the potion I had brewing in the corner, and he gestured and asked, softly, "May I?" I nodded my consent, unconsciously asserting my ownership, and acknowledging his concession to the fact that this was as much my domain as his potions lab was his. He approached, keeping a careful distance, but I handed him a stirring rod that had a small spoon incorporated on its end, which I had made for sampling potions. He examined it before dipping it, after my approving nod, into the clear blue that simmered over a low flame. It left a string of the right viscosity as he lifted the spoon.

"Excuse me a moment, would you?" I asked. "It's ready."

He watched as I divided the potion into four smaller cauldrons, to which I fitted cork lids. I labeled each cauldron with my own notation for contents, as well as the date and time. "Annealing brew," I said, looking up. "I'm working on a finish that will protect against aconite decay in…" He nodded wordlessly, and I finished the job and cast a stasis spell over the original cauldron. "I'll need to clean that, but it can wait," I said. "Kreacher will have brandy for us… and something to go with, I imagine. He thinks I'm too thin." I gestured toward the door, and, after looking me up and down as if matching his assessment against Kreacher's, causing me to flush, he preceded me out of the lab.

He stayed into the early morning that time, grilling me on the properties of glass and crystal, and I struggled to explain that glass is not a single entity, and that the quality and characteristics of the end product depend on everything from whether the object was made from soda-lime, borosilicate, leaded glass, or crystal; the method of production – blown, mold-blown, flatworked; the temperature of the furnace or flame; the annealing process; the composition of the tools; the fuel that sourced the fire… all before the application of potion or spell or charm… He listened avidly, asked pointed questions, probed the range and nature of the items I made, and demanded more.

It was exhausting. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating, and my heart sang with it, with this brash, intellectual, equal exchange. Dear Merlin, how I loved the way we interacted that night! I felt… respected.

At some point, I excused myself back to my lab, and returned with a roll of soft velvet, doubled and divided into long, thin pockets, from which I withdrew, with carefully gloved hands, a dozen stirring rods, explaining the characteristics and specific purposes of each, which brews and ingredients they were suitable for, and which not, and why. They were the best I had made to date, a requirement of my mastery exam, which I would sit in two months, though I did not tell him that. He leaned forward over the low table between us, restraining himself with difficulty, and I laughed to myself, pulled a second pair of gloves from my pocket, and handed them to him. I remember that they had to stretch to accommodate his larger hands, and that, for some reason, brought a smile to my face that I carefully hid from him.

There was one rod that repeatedly had drawn his attention – molded and sculpted rather than drawn into a single, smooth length. Red crystal, with flashes in its interior that were the result of the spells I had cast during its creation, the whorls that twisted it just so, and the runes etched into its surface invoking the most protective magic I had been able to muster. It was a Potion Master's rod – though they were all at least competent enough for that level – and I will confess, I had made it with this particular Potion Master in mind, though I knew that my major professor would make a bid for it.

Severus admired it where it lay, and used one gloved finger to roll it over, to examine the runes on the other side. He looked to me for permission, and at my nod, held it up, so that he could see its facets reflected in the fire. He snorted and shook his head, a small smile on his face. When he laid it down, with exquisite care, as I held my breath and awaited his assessment, he looked up, shook his head again, and sat back in his chair, peeling the gloves off his hand, finger by finger, a sensuous strip tease that had me gasping for breath, and trying to hide the fact. He smiled, unfocused a moment longer, laying the gloves across one knee.

"You, Mr. Potter, are a master."

My chest swelled with some emotion too complicated to be pride, too filled with relief and joy, and my eyes teared a bit. I had to swallow past the lump in my throat before I could reply with a quiet, "Thank you, Severus. That… that means a lot, coming from you."

"It should mean a lot coming from anyone. I meant it sincerely. Your work is exquisite. You may expect…" He hesitated. "If I may," he continued more carefully, "I would like to… If this is your usual quality of work…"

He seemed to be fumbling for words, and I grinned at him. "I'll be open for business by November, sir, and I would appreciate your patronage."

He nodded and a small quirk of his mouth let me know he was as amused at himself as I was. He noted the time, finally, and said, "I have taken far too much of your time, this evening, Harry. My apologies."

I waved that off, but he rose and handed me back the gloves. "If I may visit another time… If it would not be an intrusion… I would love to see you at work – perhaps just a demonstration, if my presence would affect the final product too much?"

"I can ward against that," I said, accompanying him to the door. I hesitated a moment. "I… I have a floo, you know. You're welcome to use it. I keep it closed to everyone but the Weasleys, my master instructor, Minerva, and Kingsley… but I can certainly open it to you, if that would be… It would let you visit. My lab, I mean."

His eyes lit with anticipation. "I would appreciate that, if you are sure… I wouldn't come through without your permission, of course."

I held up a hand in protest. "Severus, you are welcome in my home any time."

He smiled again. "Thank you, Harry. I'll use the floo, then, if you don't mind. It's a bit late…"

The fireplace flared, and he stepped in, made eye contact, and said, quite deliberately, his tone making the invitation clear, his eyes twinkling and reflecting the green of the floo powder, "Snape's lair."

He was gone before I even started laughing. Oh holy Merlin! Where's Hermione? Oh, gods… too late for that! I sat laughing and replaying the evening in detail for long minutes before I convinced myself to go to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Five

Two months, four dinners, and an unfortunate sixteen Daily Prophet articles on the dashing Severus Snape and his rotating cast of escorts later, I took my mastery exams – and passed with scores high enough even to quell the self-doubt that has always plagued me. Ron, Hermione and the Weasleys insisted on throwing me a congratulatory dinner, and invited half a dozen other guests, among them Neville, Minerva, Hagrid, and – as I knew Hermione would insist or plot or set up – Severus.

My master's project – a full set of twenty crystal and glass stirring rods, and an equal number of labeled vials in a variety of colors and materials, were displayed – minus one item – along with my dragonhide-bound thesis and my framed Master's certificate, on Mrs. Weasley's buffet, protected by a double ward that both kept the pieces from being accidentally damaged or contaminated, and kept the guests safe from being poisoned or having their own magic compromised. The vials, in particular, were that complex.

Severus was continually drawn to the array, even during the sit-down dinner, his eyes repeatedly returning to the buffet, a slight frown marring his porcelain forehead. I kept a neutral look on my face, while my stomach squirmed in anxious anticipation. After dinner, we broke for brandy and more informal afters, and inevitably, he and I both ended up at the buffet. I leaned against the wall beside its long length, my insides warmed and calmed by sips of Mr. Weasley's excellent choice of libation, watching him study each piece, onyx eyes alight with intelligence and inquiry. He asked a question here and there, and after a couple of cautions, I waved a hand to lower the wards so that he could examine each piece in detail, handing him again a pair of the gloves that were ever-present, carrying them second nature to me now.

He picked up each piece, one by one, usually studying the item silently, but occasionally murmuring in appreciation or question, to which I replied equally quietly. I watched him, though, the facets of each piece causing rainbow colors of light to flow over his face, revealing different aspects of him as he turned each item in careful hands.

"Breathtaking," he exclaimed over one vial, his comment breathed out nearly reverently, warming me in other ways.

"Yes," I agreed, though I knew we weren't talking about the same thing. "Would you be willing to help me pack them back up? It takes a careful hand," I asked, and he nodded an eager assent. I smiled to myself, thinking ahead to what I had planned. We packed the pieces side by side, shoulders brushing, fingers brushing, thighs brushing at times, as we moved and reached across each other, my skin humming and my heart beating an eager rhythm. I handed him the doubled roll for the stirring rods, which he took after a moment's hesitation, and began filling, slipping each rod into a slot. I could practically hear him counting, could nearly feel his disappointment against my skin as we moved together, finishing the packing.

"Severus," I said, turning toward him as I hoisted the second of two leather vial cases to the top of the buffet. "Come with me to Grimmauld." I nodded at the three containers that held my master's projects, my thesis, and my certificate. "I can shrink the thesis, but not the rest. It would save me a second trip… It's been a long day," I said, trying to keep a wheedling tone from my voice.

His eyes flashed in amusement anyway, though what he thought of my… invitation – for we both knew that was what it was – I did not know. "Certainly, Potter – Harry. I'll be happy to lend a hand for the evening."

If he knew what I thought at that, he might have withdrawn the offer. Or perhaps not. In any case, not too long after, we flooed to Grimmauld Place, having taken our leave of clan Weasley and assorted others, levitating our burdens down to my studio. "I have to put several of these away before I can retire," I said, opening the case he had been carrying. "Why don't you take a seat over there?" I gestured with my chin, and he moved to sit on the side of the worktable across from me.

I waved a hand surreptitiously, and a long, wooden box appeared on the table in front of him as he took up a stool. He looked up at me and I stopped what I was doing to smile at him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Open it," I suggested softly.

His eyes glinted dangerously, and I shivered, but hid it, I thought.

"Potter," he growled, and I laughed. "Just open it, Severus," I pleaded. "It's yours – if you want it."

He drew the lid off through the rabbited walls of the box and set it aside, brushed away the curls of shaved maple, and, holding his breath and glancing up at me for permission, reached in – bare handed, now, knowing exactly what that meant, and retrieved the molded and carved, ruby-colored stirring rod he had admired two months earlier. He traced each rune with a reverent finger, held the rod up against the low fire that still burned, though banked, as I was not using the workshop that evening, and finally took possession of it, his long-fingered hand curling around it just so. I closed my eyes against the sight of him caressing the rod I had labored over, with him in mind, for so many hours… days… weeks. Severus. All the love, respect, faith, and admiration I felt for the man had gone into its crafting, and I could only hope…

When I opened my eyes, his were on me, glittering more than usual. "Harry," he breathed, "I… thank you. I had thought… your master instructor…"

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "You… you have been… you are… the most important teacher…" the most important man "in my life, Severus. No one…" I ducked my head, unable to meet his eye as I said the rest. "No one means as much to me as you do. No one ever could." I looked up at him and steeled my courage. "It was made for you," I admitted.

He held my gaze for a long time, and I wished I dared Legilimancy… or dared let him in past my own barriers… dared even to let myself past the barriers I had erected against knowing. I love you, Severus Snape. But I hid that… at least fairly well… and gestured at the rod he still held in his hands. He did not look down, though, but continued looking at me. "I do not know what to say… Crystal Master," he said with a wry smile, giving me my formal title for the first time. He slipped off the stool and gave a little bow in my direction.

My breath caught, and then I laughed, rather shakily. "Potions Master," I answered formally, bowing a tad more deeply in his direction, then straightening. "I think I prefer Harry and Severus," I said, wiping a hand across my forehead. "If you don't mind."

His lips quirked in a smile of agreement. "Harry," he said, with another little bow.

I laughed again and rolled my eyes. "Stop," I half ordered, half pleaded. "And you'd better put that away, unless you want it contaminated. Want to help with these?"

He put the rod away, sighing happily as he slid the cover back into place, and patting the box proprietorially, before turning and saying, "So this was just a ruse, then, banishing me to this side of the table?"

I laughed again, more easily, in agreement. "These go over there, in the rosemary," I said, handing him a couple of vials.

We made quick work of stowing the remainder of the vials in their proper places, and went back to my study, where I offered him tea or another brandy, but he begged off. "I really should go," he said. "I have an order to fill, myself, tomorrow, and Geoff is waiting…"

He broke off at that, and my stomach plummeted to my shoes. "Fine," I said. "No need to explain. I'll… Thank you for coming tonight."

"Harry…" He took a step toward me.

"No. Really. I understand. Go on, then," I said, waving him off toward the fireplace and wrapping my arms around my middle, trying not to seem too pathetic.

He stood across from me… too near… too far… I wanted to throw myself into his arms and cry… or beg him to stay… or… I don't know – kiss him, maybe. Beg him to love me, I guess. I wanted him to leave so I could collapse without him seeing… hopefully without him knowing…

There was an awkward silence, and then he turned toward the fireplace, and took the box of floo powder from the mantle, took out a measured handful, and replaced the box. He lifted the box that held the stirring rod in his hand, as if in salute, stepped backward into the fireplace, and waited until I lifted my eyes to his, which were filled with something like pleading… like pain… like guilt. Before I could wonder at that, though, he threw down the powder, said, "Snape's lair," and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

I collapsed where I stood, curled up into as tight a ball as I could manage, and shook with sobs until Kreacher came and cajoled me into going upstairs, and brought me a cup of hot tea that I held until it grew cold, and until the sun began to come up over the windowsill.

Hermione – with Ron in tow – hounded me until I told her what was wrong, of course. And of course, she was comforting, and Ron cursed Severus under his breath until even Hermione told him to lay off. It wasn't Snape's fault. Merlin knew, I bloody well knew he was… seeing… other… men… And… he wasn't seeing me that way, anyway. We were… friends… or colleagues… or old war companions, or some bloody thing, and he owed me exactly nothing – not his time, not his allegiance, and certainly not any bloody explanation.

It was just that I felt bound to him. No matter that the man was seeing however many other men… no matter that he had not once, not ever encouraged my affections in this direction, damn it. I still felt… bound to him. All that I had… all that I was… I owed to him. And more than that, I wanted to belong to him… wanted to give him… all of me… But… it appeared he had no desire to take it.

Two weeks later, it was my turn to choose the place for dinner. I neglected to send an owl, and for the first time in two and a half years, we did not meet. I don't know which one of us I was punishing. I spent the night sitting on the sofa in the study, next to the fireplace, brooding, my legs stretched out in front of me, my hands wrapped around a too-warm brandy, feeling sorry for myself, feeling bereft, wondering if it was possible to mourn something I had never had… wondering if Severus was even mindful of my absence, if it mattered to him at all, or if he happily filled the time with… some other man. Hermione and Ron had pushed me to just continue… just keep meeting him every other week… Or to make a decision to let it go. But… I didn't have the strength, I don't think, to pretend… that he meant nothing to me… or that he was just an old friend or old professor or whatever he considered himself to be to me. I didn't have the strength to end it. I tried not to get drunk.

I didn't hear the floo flare, ensconced as I was in my studio, two days later. I had managed to subsume my sense of loss and sadness and… humiliation, maybe… in my work, though I had not yet secured premises for the shop I hoped to open before winter. Instead of investigating potential leases, I kept to my lathe and furnaces and kilns, trying to recapture my motivation in the precision that crystal and glass and potion required, if only to avoid a fatal injury. Nor, apparently, did I hear the soft knock Severus insisted he had made before he cautiously opened the door to the studio. I'd long since spelled the wards to admit him – and had completely forgotten the fact. Not that I'd have undone that access. I was so completely his… and that felt irrevocable.

I don't know how long he stood there, travel cape spelled to dissipate the rain that had been falling for the last two days, keeping me company in my misery. He must have moved, stirring the air or causing his robes to rustle, and suddenly I was aware of him, even before I whirled around, neatly cracking the bit of glass I had been so carefully attenuating.

"Shit!" I said, jumping back from the molten bits that sprayed across my leather apron. He jumped forward as if to intervene, and I flicked an alarmed hand in a knock-back spell that pushed him against the wall and held him there.

"Harry!"

"Stop! Just… stop. Stay there," I ordered, and, releasing the spell, trusting him to stay put, I turned my attention to the charmed and potion-coated bits of glass that now lay scattered across the floor and my work table. Eying the flame, I noted the molten glass that had attached to one end of the burner. I winced and cast a careful containment spell before working it loose from the metal that had shocked it cold and brittle. That done, I waved my hand to collect the shards on the floor, so that neither of us would step on them and shred our feet. Coaxing the bits off the table from around the burner and my tools was a bit trickier, as I could not risk moving anything else, even to clear a path. Five minutes or so passed before I breathed a sigh of relief and turned accusing eyes toward Severus, still and repentant, standing near the door.

"I'm so sorry," he began, halting at my growl.

I had a flash of insight that our positions were bizarrely reversed – usually it would have been me standing there apologizing for making him lose focus while brewing some highly dangerous and deadly potion. I saw the recognition flash across his face, as well, and he fought against his amusement. I snarled and shook my head, refusing to allow it, despite the desire of my lips to twitch in answering humor.

He waited silently for me to make the next move.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, finally, surly in the face of my fear and the returned sense of loss.

"We missed our appointment. I came to see if you were all right." He sounded tentative. I hated it.

I waved a hand. "You've seen. I'm fine." Now go, before I humiliate myself.

He held still a moment. "Do you want your stirring rod back?" he said into the silence. His voice was… thin… defeated.

I froze, then gave up, and collapsed onto a stool and dropped my head into my hands. "To what end?" I asked, my voice directed to the table. "You know it can't be used by anyone else, now."

"You could always destroy it," he said, dark humor lacing his tone. A moment later, he moved to take the stool the other side of the table.

"Severus…" I stopped. There were so many things I wanted to say… that I didn't want to say. I looked up at him, and he looked the way I felt – uncertain, uncomfortable, wishing something was different. I snorted, shook my head, and looked down again, at the burn marks on the worktable. I groaned – loudly, on purpose. "Look," I said, glancing up at him, "Could we just…" I waved a hand. "… start over."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Start over, Potter? I hardly think we could start over, at this point." He sat up straighter and slapped a hand down on the table, creating an echo, then flinched. I waved a hand to indicate it did not signify – my shop was warded against random sounds that would otherwise create flaws in the work. "However," he proposed, "we could, perhaps, back up… a couple of weeks."

I raised an eyebrow in return. "Oh?"

"I believe I was thanking you for your exquisite work… that you had gifted me."

"I vaguely recall offering you a tea… or brandy."

Over the cauldron that sat against the short wall of my shop hung a clock, silently ticking away the moments. Severus glanced at it. "Bit early for spirits, Potter."

"It's still Harry, Severus."

"I thought I might have lost that privilege, Crystal Master."

I paused in the act of stripping off the dragon-leather apron I wore to guard against sparks and molten glass. "I'm not sure you could do anything bad enough to lose that right, Potions Master," I said formally. The side of his mouth twisted in an attempt to suppress a smile.

"I assure you – Harry – that I can be very bad." His voice had gone soft, silken, and sultry, and his eyes were smoldering.

Oh, dear Merlin… was… was Severus Snape flirting with me? Please, God!

I gasped, recovered enough, I hoped, that my voice would be steady, and said, as lightly as I could, "Don't make promises you have no intention of keeping! Come on," I added, whipping off my apron and crossing behind him to hang it on one of the pegs near the door, "Tea, then."

Tea and sandwiches eased us into conversation, first about the stirring rod I had made him, which he had felt too guilty to use, easing my heart some, then about my immediate plans – which were to open for business in Diagon Alley within the month.

"Not Hogsmeade?" he asked, but waved a hand to forestall any answer I might give. "No – of course not. Your work would be wasted on students, and they would make up the majority of your customers – if they could even afford you."

I laughed. "I assure you, plain stirring rods will be the bulk of my business, my bread and butter. I'll reserve the fancy work for… people like you."

"Or collectors," he suggested, and at my negation, "Don't overlook that market, Harry. A collector might pay as much as a thousand galleons for the very best, most artistic rods. Not to mention vials, which arguably could go for far more. And you have the talent."

"I'm serious," he added, when I scoffed at that. He tapped a finger against his teacup, his fingernail making it ring slightly. "I should take you with me to the next Potions conference," he mused, his gaze unfocused.

I looked at him inquiringly, working desperately to keep my heart from pounding in vain hope.

"Paris," he said with a smile. He set his cup down. "In January."

"Tough time to travel with glass," we said at the same time, and I laughed. "Well, it would be."

"I'm aware, but warming charms…"

He paused when I shook my head. "Affects the temper of the glass," I said.

"Hmm… Let's work on it. It would be a shame for you to miss this one. It's our 300th anniversary – certain to be attended by the best from around the world."

I winced, for two reasons. "I'm not sure…" I began.

"But I am," he said, insistently. "I've been bottling and stirring potions longer than you have been alive, Potter. I know quality tools and equipment when I see them. Your work is easily the best I've seen in a decade or more. And the way you've thought through the reagents… You deserve to present at this gathering, trust me."

"But… I don't speak French."

"English is the international language of the Society, Harry. It will be all right. Trust me."

"I do," I said – and meant far more than the conversation warranted.

"We'll find a way," he said.

And we did. We resumed our biweekly meetings, to the relief of both of us, I think, business discussions keeping our interactions safe… though there was a different undertone to every discussion. It was, after all, rather hard to talk about rods without falling into innuendo and teasing. It had been a constant source of amusement and frustration during my apprenticeship. It was nearly agony, delivered in the velvet-smooth baritone of Severus' voice. It rode up and down my arms, my spine, vibrated behind whichever ear was nearest him, and once again, I spent most of my time around him at least half hard, and resumed my vigorous wanking schedule, timed to thoughts of him.

He did not stop dating, but photographs of him and the men he took to various events were interspersed with photographs of the two of us, now, heads bent together in easy intimacy, over some table where we were drawing spell diagrams and vial designs into one or the other journal, or on napkins, or in some instances, on tablecloths, which we then whipped off the tables before we left, to the initial dismay and eventual amusement of more than one Maître'd. He helped me prepare my paper proposal, his mentorship easing my nerves at every step along the way.

My feelings for Severus continued to overwhelm me. The scent of potions and bergamot and cinnamon that clung to him filled my nostrils, and made me inhale deeply every time he bent close enough, and his long fingers tapping a menu, or journal, or his teacup mesmerized me, so that I am sure he wondered if I was becoming absent-minded – or more so than usual, for me. I nearly always arranged to arrive at our chosen destination ahead of him, because watching him maneuver between tables to follow some host or hostess toward me gave me such a sweet opportunity to study his hips, his long legs, his torso, the way his arms balanced him, the way he missed the swish of his robes every time we met in some Muggle establishment – increasingly necessary to keep the secrets of our work from being accidentally overheard by some passing wizard, particularly as his fame – and mine, I admit – grew. I loved his voice, and his hair, and his brilliant, beautiful eyes, and the way he bent near to whisper something for my ears alone.

And… I ached to take him home with me… always. I'd have followed him anywhere…

So I followed him to Paris.


	6. Chapter 6

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Six

****January finally arrived. My application to both vend and present at the IMPS – International Makers of Potions Society – conference had been approved. I was sure it was because Severus had helped me draft my proposals and sponsored my application, but he insisted I had earned the privilege on my own merits. We spent a week hand-packing a hundred vials, an equal number of my best stirrers, and two dozen or so ladles, spoons, and spatulas into the containers Severus had spelled with environment-containment charms that we had exhaustively tested for months, before determining that they interfered not at all with the integrity of even the most sensitive vials and rods.

I spent two anxious days awaiting word from Paris that they had arrived safely, as far as could be determined without close inspection, before Severus and I headed there ourselves. By the time we arrived at the international apparition point that we usually used when dining in Paris, I was vibrating in anxiety, and Severus put a warm hand on my back to steady me, and whispered into the back of my head, "Easy, Potter, or you'll crack crystal and glass before you get within ten meters of your work." I stepped back into his warmth, surprised that he let me. He slid a hand to the side of my winter travel robe, and pressed it to my hip in clear support. I took a breath, shaky for a completely different reason, then.

We made our way to the convention hotel, and I stood uncertainly at the counter while he checked us in. "Just the one," he said in agreement with something the clerk said. She handed him an envelope with two polished brass keys and a number written on the front. "_Merci_," Severus murmured, and shifted the robe across his arm to regain control of his luggage. Oh, bloody hell – he's going to talk French all weekend! I thought in despair. The thought threatened to run right to my cock, and I bit my cheek until my eyes watered to keep that from happening, with moderate success, though I was glad I had not yet shucked my winter robe.

"Come," Severus said, turning and leading the way to elegant elevators. I shook my head at his unexpected familiarity with Muggle technology, but realized he had done a fair amount of traveling, what with his publications and presentations and all. I watched him press the button to call the lift, and then the 7, for the floor our rooms were on, evidently.

Room, singular, as it turned out.

He led the way down a narrow hallway to room 714, slipped a key from the envelope, and stuck it in the slot. The key wriggled and the lock shivered. There was a click, and the door opened inward. Severus stood to the side and looked at me… looking at him. He frowned and jerked his head toward the room. I narrowed my eyes uncertainly, but entered the room, brushing past him, acutely aware, abruptly, of his utter, intense masculinity. He followed me, and dropped his bags on the nearer of the two narrow but elegant beds, while I stood stock still, frozen in the sudden realization...

Holy mother of Merlin – we're sharing a room!

A frisson of… fear? Anticipation? Hope? ran down my back, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?" His voice was sharp with concern, and he stepped up behind me to reach around to feel my forehead for fever. "You didn't catch floo fever, did you?"

I shook my head, unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and answered. "No. I'm sure not. I… just…" I shivered again when he withdrew his touch, and turned in time to catch the look of consternation on his face.

"There are a number of illnesses that make the rounds of conventions, Harry," he said, studying my face and picking up one of my hands to press my fingernails and check my pulse. "You need to pay strict attention to preventive spells and basic hygiene. Try to stay out of others' personal space." He dropped my wrist and snorted. "Though that can be incredibly hard with some ethnicities." He glanced at me. "Some groups take offense if you do not breathe in the air that they exhale, or if you draw back from a touch." He scowled at that, and I could not even imagine how he must have hated that, as private a man as he was. "In any case…"

He crossed to his bags, withdrew a vial – not one of mine, I noted absently – and tossed it at me. "One sip now, and another at bedtime. Twice a day until we're back home."

I raised an eyebrow at him and he snorted before clarifying, "Con crud preventive." I laughed at the blunt terminology, and took the sip as ordered.

I hung my formal robes while he used the loo, squeezed past him in the small room to do the same, then spent moments staring at his kit on the counter by the sink, trying to get used to the idea of the forced intimacy which felt, somehow, much, much different from him using the guest loo at Grimmauld Place. I finally took a breath, completed my business, washed my hands – being excessively careful not to splash his kit, and opened the door, only to come face-to-face with him. He'd been straightening his robes, checking himself over in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

"I beg your pardon," he said with a smirk, giving a last tug on his cravat. He held his ground in some adolescent jockeying for position and power, and I finally snorted and pushed him aside, turning away from his uncharacteristic grin to get to my own robes. I freshened up enough for a quick run to check on my wares and identify the space I was to set up in, in the morning, and then an informal dinner out, acutely aware of the man moving around on the other side of the room. The conference would start first thing the following day.

We sat in the dark, smoky hotel lounge, hours later, our feet stretched out in front of us, Severus shockingly informal, given we were in public, sipping at some "eloquent brandy", as he put it. "I assume I still have to teach you to appreciate a fine brew, Mr. Potter," he said, waving his glass in my direction. I was still trying to wrap my mind around it – Severus Snape, at ease in Paris, the night before giving a formal address to his international colleagues. I sipped at my brandy, mostly to keep myself from losing control of my thoughts, to rein in my impulses, which were running rampant, heading mostly south.

People stopped by to say hello to him. Sometimes he introduced me, sometimes they begged an introduction, sometimes he and his conversation partner both ignored me. A few people attempted to greet him in the French way, with a kiss in the air to either side of his face – and he sometimes allowed it, which set my teeth on edge. A familiar-looking man came up to us, and Severus stood to greet him, a smile on his face. The man shook Severus' hand and grasped his arms as they talked. Severus looked… fond of the man, and I realized his face was familiar because I had seen him paired with Severus in the paper. I felt… out of place… intrusive… but he moved on, and Severus sat and returned to commenting on people he apparently knew, as they entered or left. Others came up and drew him into conversations about this or that potions matter, in terminology I could barely follow, despite being somewhat familiar with Severus' work, as well as the potions required in my own field. It was new and a bit intimidating, and I caught his amused glances as I sat in perplexity and jealousy, feeling very, very junior to him, in his professionalism, and very out of place, given the easy camaraderie between him and his peers.

A number of the wizards and witches who approached Severus clearly recognized me. It helped, I think, that The Prophet had splashed pictures of me and Severus together across the front page. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd have been overlooked, as out of place as I was. A dark-haired man in expensive robes, to whom I took an immediate dislike, greeted me in a slimy voice that made uncomfortable prickles run up the nape of my neck.

"Ah. Mr. Harry Potter!" he said in an accent I could not place, gripping my hand too tightly and too long, pulling me toward him so sharply that I had to take a step closer to keep my balance. His eyes bored into mine so strongly that I felt myself throwing up my shields in self-defense, though I do not think he was using Legilimancy. "I so hoped to make your acquaintance. Giving a talk on… what was it? Properties of glass, or some such?"

He continued to mangle my hand, despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that I had loosened my hold, and was clearly interested in repossessing it. I was acutely aware that he had hold of my wand arm, and that my wand was poking me in my ribs, uncomfortably out of reach, tucked up my left side as it was. Not that I would have pulled it, but it would have been nice to have the option.

"Exothermic Reactions in Vial Creation," I replied stiffly.

"Ah, yes – whether to turn up the heat or down," he said dismissively.

Severus stepped up beside me and took my left elbow in a grip so strong I would have protested, had I not been so grateful for his presence. "Richard," he said coldly. "Do unhand Mr. Potter, here. Wouldn't want the press drawing incorrect conclusions, would you? They might think you've decided to bludger for the other team."

"Mr. Potter," he continued mildly, when Richard finally let go and glanced around as if expecting to see the press appear with quick-quotes quills, "why don't you tell Richard the full title of your talk?"

Hardening my gaze, now that I had Severus' support, I recited, "Exothermic Reactivity of Grignard versus Collins Reagents in the Creation of Vials for Healing Potions". The man blinked. I did not wait for his verbal reaction, but turned to Severus. "Don't we have a meeting tonight?"

"Indeed. I was just about to call time," he said, a glint of approval and something darker in his eyes. And with that, still holding onto my elbow, heedless of the fact that there were, indeed, members of the press hovering and cameras flashing – though where they had come from, I did not know, Severus turned us both toward the door, nodding to people as we passed, and exiting the lounge. It was only when he raised a hand to his robe that I realized he had his wand out.

We took a floo connection, rather than the lift, back to our rooms, Severus insisting we enter the floo together. He did not let go until we stepped from the fireplace to the hearth of our room, and even then, I had the impression he was unwilling to let go. Some thought or emotion sped over his face as he looked down at me, standing so close to his chest that I almost got a crick in my neck looking up at him, frozen and wavering back and forth, as if deciding whether to lean in. I so wished to lean in… He inhaled sharply and hesitated a moment before letting me go and stepping back, breaking eye contact. I finally remembered to breathe.

"Who was that?" I asked, for lack of anything else to break the tension.

"Richard Daltry. American. Arse. Stay away from him."

Snape's face was darkened, and it was not a request, but for some reason, neither of those raised my hackles as much as warmed me. I nodded. "Slimy git," I said in as casual a tone as I could manage. I was shaking – but whether it was from the ugly feel of the man in question or from the intense effort it was taking me not to lean forward, wrap my arms around Snape, and burrow under his jacket for safety, I didn't know.

"He is that," Snape said, finally moving away. He stepped to a night table between the two beds, doing nothing but breathing, fists clenched at his sides, shocking me. He's upset. What about? He consulted a parchment, and sharply called out, "Abby."

There was a crack, and an odd-looking House Elf appeared. It took me a moment to realize it was her – I assumed it was a her – attire that looked so odd. Apparently, French House Elves wore something other than towels. This one wore a light blue shift with the insignia of the hotel on its left shoulder.

"Monsieur wished for something?" it said in French-accented English.

"Tea, please – for two."

"As Monsieur wishes."

With another crack, she was gone, and Snape straightened and turned to look at me, his face carefully controlled. "You'll want to review your layout for your table tomorrow. Vendors typically show up a half hour or more before viewing begins, to set up their wares." He strode to the dresser neither of us had bothered to use to check the conference programme. "Merchants have access from eight. Conference presentations begin at nine, as does the merchant room."

He buried his head in the programme, and did not look up. I wondered if I had done something wrong, but did not know how to ask, so settled for sitting at a small, round table, across from him, pulling my conference materials to me. Abby – I assumed it was Abby – reappeared with tea and biscuits, and the ritual of tea eased the uncertain tension in the room, as the two of us discussed the various presentations available and Severus talked me through how to participate without becoming overwhelmed.

His own presentation was scheduled for late afternoon, leaving just enough time to change into even more formal robes before the awards banquet, which we would be attending, even though Severus was not up for an award that year. Vending closed a half hour before his presentation, so I would be able to attend, though he warned me that he would need to be in the assigned room well before I would be able to get there, given that I would need to pack my remaining wares and see them stowed in our room before I could go. I hoped I would be able to get there on time.

Eventually, I started to yawn, and he looked up. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be an exceptionally long day." One side of his lips lifted in distaste and I laughed, stretched until my back cracked, at which he rolled his eyes, and got up. "I'll just shower now, rather than in the morning, if it's all right with you." He waved a hand, head already buried back in the programme.

I showered, put on some sleep pants and a t-shirt, and exited the bathroom. Severus was still reading, so engrossed that he did not even appear to notice me moving around the room and finally, tentatively, settling onto the bed that was, unfortunately, nearest the window – and the table at which he sat. I slipped under the blankets and laid on my back, trying to quell my awareness of the man just feet from me in the small room. Eventually, I turned on my side, toward him, shutting my eyes to slits, studying him through my lashes… this dark, beautiful man that I had hated in my ignorance, and then fallen for in my understanding. The small circle of light from the fixture over the table focused on his reading material, which I recognized as the parchment on which he had written the text of his talk. His eyes moved as he reviewed what he planned to say the next day, his fingers absently stroking the edges of the parchment as he thought. I drifted to sleep, my love for this man warming the room, his presence making me feel safer than I had since… since I was born, I think.

I woke to him nudging the edge of the mattress, jostling me awake with his knee. He was dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt, already tucked in, and was tying a cravat. His hair was damp. For just a moment, I cursed the fact that I had missed… what? The sound of him in the shower? I shook the image out of my head and sat up, groaning slightly. He smirked at me and nodded his head toward the table between the beds, on which sat the 'con crud preventive' and a vial of what could only have been pepper-up potion, to judge by the color and the vial it was stored in. I nodded my thanks, not prepared for conversation just yet, and downed the potions, eyeing the other unmade bed.

Severus slept there last night. I estimated the distance from his pillow to mine – a meter and a half, if that, the room was so small and the beds so close. I could almost have reached out to touch him. I shivered, and, although he had turned away, I could tell he had picked up on it. He turned to eye the vials, and then me.

"Let me know if that shivering gets worse. I have a stronger remedy on me, if need be."

"'M fine," I mumbled, untangling my legs from the blankets.

He nodded, accepting that, and picked up his waistcoat. "Breakfast before anything else. It will be downstairs – included with the conference fee. I will be ready in ten minutes. Will you be?"

I nodded and he quirked an eyebrow, clearly dubious. I got up, grateful that, for once, I did not have morning wood, and stumbled to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. That done, I made short work of getting ready. He clucked at the open collar of my shirt, drew a tie from his bag, threw it at me, and glared until I shrugged and put it on, tying it inexpertly under his watchful glare. He finally snorted in amusement, waved his wand, and tucked it up his sleeve, as I choked at the sudden tightness over my throat and surreptitiously loosened the tie enough to feel a bit more comfortable. We threw our robes over our shoulders in unison, and he reached to straighten a wrinkle in one shoulder of mine. I tried not to gasp and nodded my thanks, then looked him over – allegedly to assure that he was similarly straightened, as if there could be any question of that, but actually just to appreciate how… together he looked… like one of those bloody pictures The Daily Prophet was always running. I nodded, he smirked, and I followed him out of the room.

Breakfast was like the night before, only brighter. People interrupted Severus to say hello or exchange a word with him, and I sat there, barely noticed. The six or so others at the round conference table introduced themselves to us, blinked at my name, and looked awed at Severus'. I was continually amused to be shunted to the status of "irrelevant", compared to Severus' apparent fame.

"Come, Potter," Severus said as I finished a final swallow of coffee and a last mouthful of the bangers and mash I'd taken from the spread at one side of the room. I hastily placed my serviette on the table, pushed back my chair, and followed him out of the room, appreciating the view far too much for my health. He led me to the area where my wares were kept under strong cushioning, temperature control, magic-dampening, and anti-theft spells. I showed my wand to prove my identity, and we each grabbed one of the leather cases, proved our identities again at the entrance to the vending area, and headed to the spot I had been assigned.

It was fairly quick work to arrange things, especially with Severus helping, the most complicated aspect being the setting of the protective wards. Again, we combined our magic with ease to get that done, our wands and hands moving in synchrony or counterpoint, as each spell demanded. It was an easy, effortless choreograph, like dancing, like making music together, I imagined. The witches and wizards at the tables near mine looked at my display out of the corners of their eyes, raising eyebrows at the complex workings Severus and I were performing to assure that nothing would crack, be contaminated, or be stolen over the next seven hours.

I finished the final steps of the spells, exhaled deeply in relief, and looked up to see Severus watching me with an odd look on his face. "What is it?" I asked. "Did I mess it up or something?"

He shook his head, eyes glinting at me, a half-smile on his face. "I'm just memorizing this moment. I wish I had thought to bring a camera."

I grinned up at him, warmth flowing through me at his words. "Thank you, Severus," I said in a low voice. I gestured at my work, and then more generally just… around. "For… everything. For all your help… for your encouragement and support. I… I would never be here, if it weren't for you." I would never be who I am, if it weren't for you.

He smirked. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't dealt with the hordes of the great unwashed IMPS." He paused and reached a still-gloved hand to push a stirring rod parallel to the others, looking down. His hand rested on the table before pulling slowly away. He inhaled deeply, as if leaving cost him something, then pulled off his gloves in that damned strip-tease. He raised his hand as if to hand them to me, and I shook my head.

"Keep those – if you don't mind. I've got others here for lookers."

He snorted. "Your 'lookers' will be buyers, Mr. Potter, if I know my colleagues." He pulled out his wand and cast a silent _Tempus_. "I must be going to my first meeting. The vending area is open all day – no down time until it closes this afternoon. You will need sustenance." He paused to consider. "I'll see that something gets to you – one way or another."

"Thank you." I rubbed my gloved hands against my trousers. "I… I'm a little nervous," I admitted.

"There is no need for that. Your work is exquisite. My only hesitation is in sharing you with the wider Potions community. I would prefer to keep your work for myself," he said with a wry smile. I grinned at that. He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me, still smiling. "I thought you might need these."

I looked down to the small, carved wooden box he had handed me, and opened it while he waited. Inside were business cards, each carrying my name, with my Crystal Master insignia, the address of my shop, and a moving picture of me at work at one of my forges – how he had gotten that, I did not know. His smile widened briefly, and then he turned and walked off, leaving me in a bizarre mixture of terror and warmth.

The day was every bit as overwhelming as I expected it to be, and I had little time to breathe, let alone eat. Attendees strolled through the vending area looking at books, cauldrons, collections of herbs, finished potions, potions that were partially rendered and needed only a final ingredient, scales, measuring spoons and cups (which I tucked into the back of my mind to ponder later), dippers, ingredients of fouler origin, and other things I was too busy to notice. A couple of the vendors would have been at home in Knockturn Alley. I had only a few minutes to examine the booths around mine before two witches stepped to my booth, exclaimed wordlessly, and began to quiz me on my wares.

Sandwiches appeared at my elbow at some point, and I grabbed a bite or two before packaging up a vial for a severe-looking, distinguished, brown-haired, wizard who had talked knowledgeably and quietly as he handled rods and vials. He had his own gloves in his pocket, and I wondered if he worked glass and crystal himself, based on his questions and the expert way he handled each piece he touched.

"You might say I am a… connoisseur of fine crystal," he replied when I asked.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He raised a still-gloved hand to stop me. "No need to apologize, Crystal Master," he said, and genuine mirth eased the severity from his face. It was the first time anyone there had given me my title, and I stood taller as he continued to look, while I carefully wrapped his chosen vial, aware that he noted the lavender with which I cushioned it, and the warded wooden box I tucked it into. I showed him the warding and unwarding spell built into the box. He shook his head, as if in disagreement, and I prepared for criticism. When it came, it was unexpected. "You charge too little," he said, smiling again. "I consider myself lucky to be amongst your earliest customers." He hefted his purchase. "Next year," he said ruefully, "I may not be able to afford you!" He laughed at that, and shook my hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Potter. You are giving a talk tomorrow, are you not?" I nodded and he nodded back, a friendly gleam in his clear blue eyes. "I am looking forward to it."

Severus appeared at my side the moment he left, holding two steaming cups of tea. "I've already fixed it the way you like it. There's a warming charm built into the cups. It'll keep, if you don't have time for all of it right now. How has your day gone?"

"What time is it?"

"Half two."

"Already?"

"Mmm." His eyes had followed my latest customer as he made his way down the row of booths, but he turned back to me without comment, smiling to himself. "Two more hours. My presentation is at half four. Salon B."

I barely had time to nod before my next customer demanded my attention.

An hour and a half later, the coordinator of the vending area stood at the entrance, her wand at her throat, a _Sonorus_ allowing her announcement that vending was now closed and that customers should complete their purchases and leave the area to be heard over the din of voices and other sounds. She reminded us of the awards dinner that evening, and gave instructions for vendors regarding storing or transporting their unsold wares. My last customer waited patiently for me to wrap his stirring rod, remind him of its care, and hand him a card.

I slumped in the chair in my booth, the first I'd sat down the entire day, and looked over the remains of my wares – two stirring rods and five vials. I was stunned and overwhelmed and more than a little worn thin at the edges, my nerves in tatters from the constant… It felt like I'd been constantly interrogated. Still, my exhaustion slowly shifted to humor, and I found myself grinning.

"Not much to pack," a familiar voice said, and I turned to see Severus behind me, a smirk on his face.

I laughed and shook my head, somewhat bewildered.

"You'll want to guard your galleons. There's a branch of Gringotts in the hotel – deposit them before you do anything else."

"I have to pack these…" I began.

"Let me," he said, nudging my hip with his knee. "Go on. You need to secure your earnings so you're not robbed by the unscrupulous or conned by someone wanting you to spend your galleons on some miracle growth potion." He snorted when I flushed at that. "Go on," he repeated.

I glanced at my wares uncertainly, and he cocked his head at me as if questioning whether I trusted him. That settled it, of course. "Don't you have a presentation in something like a half hour?"

"Twenty minutes, so if you'll leave me to it, I shall have everything packed well before then," he said pointedly.

I nodded, but wavered, and he put a hand on my back and pushed. "Hurry, Potter. I have a paper to present."

I hurried, finding the Gringott's branch at the directions of the hotel staff, once I got their attention. After depositing a shocking number of galleons and sickles, I turned back to the vending area, but was stopped by a security goblin, who said, "All empty."

"Even the vendors?"

"Gone."

I shrugged, certain Severus would have done something appropriate with the few bits I had left after the day, thanked the goblin, and turned to find Salon B, where Severus would be presenting.

It was a huge room, packed with a crowd sporting a colorful variety of clothing, representing wizards from every continent – or so the programme had claimed - some of whom looked particularly odd to me, until I realized they were wearing Muggle attire, looking out of place amid the robes and hats and cloaks the rest of us wore. Nearly every seat was taken, and there was a dampening spell that disallowed enlarging or conjuring seating, though some of the standard seating seemed to have morphed anyway, into chintz covered, plush chairs of the sort Dumbledore had favored. I edged my way along a wall, eyeing the green symbols floating in the air that signified open seats in the crowd.

Severus was up on the speaker's platform, talking with some wizard who was apparently in charge of getting presenters what they wanted, or making sure they knew the _Sonorus_ and image-projecting spells that would allow the audience to see and hear them. I considered my options, and ended up taking a seat at the left edge of the crowd, about a third of the way from the front. I wanted to watch Severus, but I wanted to watch the crowd, too.

The man Severus had been talking to turned toward the podium, and I realized it was the distinguished wizard who had called me Crystal Master. He pointed his wand at his throat, and his voice boomed out into the room, cultured and sure.

"Good afternoon, everyone. If you would please take your seats, we will begin our last presentation of the day." He waited for the room to quiet a bit, clearing his throat when a couple wizards at the back of the room continued their somewhat loud discussion. They turned and looked at the front of the room, and one of them gave a good-natured wave, calling, "Sorry, Geoff! Quidditch bets, you know!" The room laughed good-naturedly, and someone called out,

"Sit down, Artie! You're holdin' up the show!" and the crowd laughed again.

Once the two recalcitrant wizards took seats, the man smiled and said, "Good afternoon."

Someone called out, "You said that already!" and was shushed by his neighbors, as laughter broke out again. I saw Severus shake his head, but he was smiling. I wondered if the IMPS group was always this… comfortable.

"All right, all right!" Geoff said, holding his hands up for silence. "As most of you know, I am Geoff Crittenden, head of the Crystal Masters' Guild."

"Not terribly creative!" someone shouted.

Geoff smiled and retorted, "That's because Crystal Masters have more class than you IMPS cretins – present company excepted," he said, bowing to Severus, who bowed back in mock seriousness.

My brain had stopped. Geoff Crittenden. Geoff Crittenden? Holy mother of Merlin! The head of the Crystal Master's Guild had… I swallowed, and my stomach tightened into knots. Holy mother of Merlin! Crittenden was a bloody genius when it came to manipulating glass and crystal, creating many of the spells and charms that went into stabilizing the materials used to form vials for the most potent potions. Oh my god – he said he is going to attend my talk! I felt nauseous, and nearly missed his introduction of Severus.

"I would like to welcome to the podium our distinguished speaker, Mister Severus Snape. As I am sure most of you are aware, Mister Snape began his career as the youngest Potions Master in three centuries, and has had a distinguished career, not only as a Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Great Britain, a task he assures me was more terrifying than his role in the Second Wizarding War, but also as the inventor of the Extended Release formulation of the Wolfsbane Potion, the creator of the cure for spattergroit, and the person responsible for preventing disaster in fertility potions."

There was some shifting and appreciative mumbling in the audience, and a smattering of applause, but Mister Crittenden held up his hands. "Please reserve your applause until after Mister Snape presents his next brilliant idea. After all, you might not like it!"

The audience laughed, and some witch called out, "It will be perfectly all right, Snape – you're still the most shaggable wizard in the room!"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Far from being a staid, boring crowd of academics, the group seemed more like a large group of friends… It wasn't much different from a meeting of the Order, really – a bunch of colleagues all getting together to discuss common problems. I sat back and watched as Severus took the podium and waited for the group to settle down to a respectful, listening silence.

"Thank you. It's good to see you all again, though I must say, Harold," and here he turned toward an elderly wizard in the front row, "you look better with your eyebrows singed off." The crowd hooted again, and the wizard in question laughed, stood and bowed to the crowd, and clapped his hands as he took his seat again.

"I am here to talk to you about ethical issues in the use of will-altering potions. Will-altering potions include, as you know, Amortentia, Liquid Imperius, and…"

I listened to Severus with half an ear. I had read his paper. It was brilliant, compassionate, stern, ethical, pragmatic, balanced, and ended with a call for greater attention to ethics, relationship, legality, and responsibility to clients and to society as a whole, a responsibility to one's own balance in potion-making in general. It was a deeply spiritual, thoughtful paper, and I was stunned at its depth, so that my appreciation for the deep integrity of the wizard I admired underwent yet another sea change, deepening my hopeless love for the man.

Severus was a masterful speaker. His voice rolled over us like velvet, like thunder, like the quiet thrumming of a dragon's rumbling breath, like Liquid Imperius itself, compelling us to agree. The audience was enthralled. He was poetic, convincing, commanding, and heads nodded throughout the room. I was captivated, watching him, his colleagues in the palm of his hand, even those who had never met him before. He was elegant, cultured, refined, and utterly, utterly brilliant, and I looked around the room, and then back up at him, feeling once again how completely out of his league I was – in the room, in this collection of knowledgeable scholars and researchers and practitioners, and most especially, in the company of Severus Snape. A wave of hopelessness washed over me, and I struggled to accept the simple truth that I would never – never – merit this man's…

Gods.

He was beautiful. In every way. And I… I was ordinary, a once-upon-a-time boy hero who had served his purpose and was done, just making his way in the world like any other working wizard, no better than anyone else, and certainly not a fit companion for a man like this. I never would be. I sat in the audience desperately trying to come to grips with the fact that… I would never have more of him… that I was bloody blessed to have what I did have with him… that it was likely pity or some sense of obligation that had him agreeing to meet with me, mentoring my presence here… that were it not for the time I begged of him, he would likely be with someone like… Geoff.

Oh my god.

_Geoff_.

I froze. The blood in my veins froze. My breathing froze. My heart stopped beating.

This was _Geoff_. _That_ Geoff, I was sure. The one he'd left me for. I practically groaned wrenching my mind into obedience, reminding myself that he had never been with me… that he had owed me nothing, the day I gave him the stirring rod I had crafted for his hands. He was perfectly free to be with Geoff Crittenden…

And why shouldn't he be? Crittenden was charming, genuine, likeable, attractive, I suppose… and… unlike me, he was brilliant, Severus' peer intellectually and professionally, someone worthy to be on the arm of Europe's, possibly the world's, foremost Potions Master. Gods, I was a fool!

More rapidly than I could have consciously managed, I gave it up, accepted it, realized that my longing for the man was ridiculous and unattainable and ignorant… that I should give him room to have the life he deserved, should set him free of the demands I made on his time, should – Dear Merlin! – stop flirting with the man, as if he must not have been chuckling to himself at my childish efforts to throw myself at him. It was all I could do not to bury my face in my hands in shame, not to leave… the room… the hotel… Paris. But… I could not do that to him. He had sponsored me, and I would not embarrass him by not meeting my obligations. I sat, stunned by my realization, staring between Severus and Geoff Crittenden, who was nodding and laughing and applauding as Severus made point after telling point, while I sat, shunted to the side by my own inadequacies, and my entire being slowly crumbled into loss and emptiness.

I listened to him finish, flushed with pleasure for him at the applause and calls of congratulations and agreement, despite my despair and the fact that my chest ached horribly. I stood to allow people out of the row I was in, so they could go join the mob that surrounded him as he stepped from the stage, and stood off to the side, supporting myself against the wall as I watched him.

"Mr. Potter?"

I turned, almost blindly, toward a group of three men not much older than me, if at all, two of them shifting from foot to foot, looking between me and the one they had apparently elected their spokesman.

"I bought a stirring rod from you this morning."

"Oh – yes! The one for antivenom, right?"

The wizard nodded, pleased. "We – the three of us… we were wondering if you would sit at our table at the awards dinner… and maybe we could have drinks afterwards, if you're willing. Our treat."

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

The spokesperson blushed. "I'm sorry. We… we know you probably have better things to do, but… it was just… I mean…"

"No," I said, glancing quickly at the crowd around Severus. "No. It's all right." I came to a sudden decision, and turned to the other two, sticking out my hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. And you are?"

The three introduced themselves, though I barely kept the first names straight, as they were all somewhat similar in appearance. Thomas Something-or-another was the spokesman for the group. The other two – who I mixed up immediately – were Guillermo, who told me to call him Bill, and Charlie, which should have made it easy, but only confused me more, Ron's brothers coming most immediately to mind.

We chatted about something I barely kept track of, one eye on the group surrounding Severus, who was laughing at something, his head thrown back in genuine amusement, his long, thin throat exposed, white scars glimmering above his high-necked shirt. I ached to go to him, but held myself where I was, and forced my attention back to the trio of wizards in front of me.

Eventually, the group around Severus broke up, at a wave of his hand. I excused myself from Tom, Bill, and Charlie, promising to meet up with them at the banquet. Severus headed unerringly for me, not even having to look to find me. A flush of discomfort came over me. I was a burden for him to keep track of.

But he did not look like that when we met in the middle aisle of the room, slowly being transfigured into the banquet hall for that night. He was smiling, at ease, moving with a lanky smoothness that communicated his comfort and relaxation, now his talk was over. He draped an arm across my shoulders and squeezed, then dropped his arm, still smiling. My chest hurt.

"Brilliant talk, Profess – er… Severus," I said.

He laughed. "Thank you, Mister Potter," he drawled, hearkening back to potions lessons years past, then changed gears. "Deposit your galleons all right?" he asked, turning us to head out of the room to allow the maintenance wizards to get on with their setting up.

"Yeah – yes. Thank you for helping me pack up."

He waved a hand dismissively. "It was nothing. You sold almost everything. There was little to pack. Quite a successful foray, I would say."

I couldn't help but grin up at him at that. "It was, wasn't it?"

He turned his smile on me, amusement and enjoyment evident in his eyes. "Quality and excellence is always valued, Potter. Never sell yourself short."

I dug my elbow into his ribs. He was forever teasing me about my height. His eyes sparkled, and my chest still hurt, and we threaded our way through the throng to the lift, making our way to our room to prepare for the banquet.


	7. Chapter 7

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Seven

Severus in dress robes was… stunning. His long black hair shone, falling across the snow-white collar of his shirt, caressing his shoulders, draping like silk over his high cheekbones, stark contrast with his pale skin. He emerged from the small bathroom adjusting the sleeves of his robe. I was struggling to turn my collar over the bow tie I had tied – poorly – at my throat, and watched his fingers as he played with his cuffs until they were arranged the way he wanted, and then checked himself in the mirror.

"Very elegant, sir, if I do say so myself. Dressed for success, I see. Spot of lint on your right shoulder, but other than that, quite spiffy," the mirror opined.

He snorted and turned toward me, watched me struggle with my collar for a moment, then gestured me over to him. Without a word, he pulled me between himself and the mirror, and stood behind me, his arms reaching easily over my shoulders. I forgot how to breathe. Oh gods!

He turned my collar up, slid the bow tie open, and retied it – perfectly and swiftly. He turned my collar down over the tie, and I caught my breath at the touch of his fingers on my neck, sending a frisson of ice and heat down my chest and my back, and up my skull so that it felt like every hair on my body stood on end… and I nearly groaned when that was not the only thing coming to attention. He looked up and met my eyes in the mirror, in amusement and something else that I still could not identify, but that was present in his look almost every time our eyes met. He smoothed the shoulders of my robe, leaving his hands there as we looked at each other. It warmed me – but also filled me with despair, as it reminded me so clearly of what I could not have.

I fought down a lump in my throat to say, "Thank you."

He flicked imaginary lint off my shoulders. The mirror said, "Nice couple. Very nice couple. You look good together, sirs, if I do say so myself. Off for a romantic evening, then?"

I squawked and ducked away from Severus' hands, even though what I wanted to do – so badly – was turn and wrap myself around him, lift my face to his… Oh gods! What I wouldn't have done to kiss him! This was dangerous. I had to… had to… Oh, Merlin!

I know I was blushing. I chanced a glance at him, and he was watching me with a speculative look on his face that I was not sure I wanted to know the meaning of.

"I… I…" I cleared my throat. "Some… some wizards asked me to sit with them at the banquet."

He leaned against the wall and drew back his robe, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his formal trousers, thumbs hooked on the outsides. Damn it, Severus! His hands and robes framed his thin hips, and I had a hard time pulling my eyes away from what, in any other wizard, might have been an invitation. A suggestion, anyway. Damn it! I stifled a groan and turned away to hide my discomfort and arousal.

"Those three young men who had you cornered," he said casually.

I didn't know you'd noticed, I thought, but… of course, as a former spy, he was probably aware of everything in his vicinity. I should know that by now.

"Yeah. I said I'd sit with them."

"Why don't you invite them to our table? The seating is general – except that those of us who are presenting have first choice."

I snorted and turned back toward him. "Well, some of us, anyway."

He nodded, conceding the point. "In any case, invite them to join us. I have no preference as to who sits with us – though I certainly have preferences as to who does not. They will help to fend off the undesirables."

"Oh." I blinked. With us? "Are you sure you don't want to… Uh… you know. Sit with…"

"With whom, Mister Potter?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I dunno. Your colleagues. Your friends… Geoff," I said, striving for an off-handed tone.

"Geoff is certainly welcome to join us, if you like," he said carefully, watching me. "Anyone else you'd care to invite?"

I waved a hand, trying to be nonchalant. "Whoever you think is fine by me. I don't really know anyone."

"Hmm," he mused. "We'll just see who comes up that is acceptable, shall we?"

It was my turn to nod. "I wouldn't know, though."

"Nor should you. Leave it to me, then. Come." He gestured at the door. I grabbed my wand from the foot of my bed, stuffed it up my sleeve, ignoring the wand pocket of my robe, and followed him out the door, wondering where he had tucked his own, shivering at the possibilities.

The banquet hall was crowded when we got there, witches and wizards dressed to impress, though none so elegant as Severus, to my eye. He wended his way through the clusters, while I followed in his wake, stopping abruptly several times as he was waylaid by people wanting to talk with him or shake his hand. While he was easy to follow, I found myself wanting to grab onto his robes, some childish fear of getting lost or mislaid making me follow him a bit too closely. The third time I ran into his back, he looked around at me, exasperation and amusement evident in his narrowed eyes and the glare he shot me. I blushed and backed off, thanking Merlin I hadn't trod on his robes, and just wishing I could hide within them, feeling ever more like I did not belong.

That was alleviated somewhat when Tom, Bill and Charlie came up to me, trailed by a fourth, whom they introduced as Mario. Mario was a dark, square-ish man, a bit older than the other four of us, dressed in… the best you could say was that his robes were casual… or that he wore them with a casual disdain for the formality the occasion demanded, I thought. I suppose they would have been alright had he straightened them, or worn a tie, or appeared to give a bloody damn. I was uncomfortable shaking hands with him, and glanced around to see where Severus had gone off to, pulled by some wizard to meet someone else. As if he felt me searching for him, he looked up, met my eyes, and scanned the group I was standing with, his eyes lingering on the newcomer. He lifted his chin at me slightly, as if to say, "I've got your back," and I jerked my head once, and turned back to the group, somewhat reassured.

Tom was watching me when I turned back. His eyes shifted to Severus, momentarily, then back to me, and he nodded ruefully. I frowned in confusion, and he smiled at me. I shook my head and tuned back into the conversation, managing to keep Bill… or was it Charlie?... between me and Mario.

Severus came up behind me several minutes later, touching one shoulder to let me know he was there.

"Time to claim a table, I think, or we'll have trouble finding one with enough open seats." He nodded to the four wizards around me. "Gentlemen. I'm Severus Snape. Harry tells me you'll be sharing our table. Shall we?"

I couldn't restrain a smile at the "our," as we followed his directions. He stayed behind me, directing me with the touch of his hand, and I dearly wished he would stop, before I embarrassed myself with a reaction I did not seem to be able to avoid. The center table was reserved for this year's honorees, but a table to the left had his name above one of the place settings, and the table was marked with a blue light hovering over the centerpiece, indicating it was reserved, as well, despite his earlier statement.

I took a seat, and Severus switched his nameplate to a setting at my right. Charlie ended up on my left, followed by Tom, then Mario, then Bill. I was surprised – and a bit annoyed, I admit, when Geoff came up and took the seat to Severus' right. Geoff was followed by three other wizards, who, one by one, shook Severus' and Geoff's hands, or clapped one or the other of them on the shoulder, before Severus invited them to join us and they took their seats and started up the kinds of small-talk that I had heard at the Ministry doings, except that it was potions-centered.

"How are you finding the conference, Mister Potter?" Geoff asked, leaning across Severus to address me.

I felt like growling at him, but I also was flattered that he was talking to me, remembered who I was. I gulped down a sip of water, and answered. "Oh – well, I've not had much of a chance to hear anyone other than Severus."

"Of course. How did your sales go?"

"Very well, thanks."

I grimaced, wondering what I was doing, conversing with the head of my guild. My hands started to sweat, and my collar felt tight, and I found my thoughts bouncing between recognition that I was sitting with what might have been the foremost Crystal Master in the world, who was querying me about my work, and picturing him with Severus… picturing Severus bending to kiss him on the lips, picturing the shorter man (because everyone was shorter than Sev, unless they had giant blood) reaching up into that kiss, pictured their naked chests pressed up against each other's, Severus' long, thin fingers threading their way through the soft-looking brown hair, holding the man to him as they kissed, pictured Severus' erection pressed up against… I felt myself starting to panic, felt jealousy start to cloud my vision.

"Harry," Severus murmured, his face turned discretely toward mine, his eyes cast over my head as if he was looking for someone. His hand slipped to his lap as if to straighten his serviette, but he pressed his hand to my thigh, tightening his fingers until they nearly hurt.

I flinched and took a deep breath. Crittenden was looking at me curiously. Bloody hell…

"Sorry," I said. "I blanked out there, for a moment. Professor Snape could tell you it's a habit of mine," I said with an uncomfortable laugh, not noticing my use of his old title. Severus squeezed my thigh once and discretely withdrew his hand. I exhaled in relief, and grabbed a pitcher of water and poured myself a bit more.

"Indeed," Snape – er, Severus – confirmed. "However, those days are long gone. It's simply been a tiring day, and a meal is long overdue," he said, agreeably. "Let me have some of that water, Harry, would you? Geoff, why don't you tell us about your latest research?"

That discussion neatly diverted everyone's attention away from me. Severus glanced at me once or twice, as if checking to see that I was alright.

Rather than having the meals appear all at once, as at Hogwarts, our meals were delivered by twenty House Elves in the hotel's service, their blue tunics glimmering in extravagantly-embroidered blue satin, trays of meals held over their heads as they paraded in as a group. Conversation turned to the dishes, and somehow, the table split in two, Tom and that group conversing with me, Geoff and the other three older wizards conversing with Severus, and it felt a whole lot like the divide between the House tables and the Head Table at school, with the attendant differences in hierarchy and privilege – so much so that, when Severus poured my wine, I was momentarily startled to be served spirits. It underscored the differences between us, and depressed me. I turned more firmly toward my age-mates, but Severus' shoulder and arm was warm at my back, occasionally brushing against me, and his thigh was warm against my hip at the crowded table. I tried desperately not to notice, gritting my teeth, trying not to let it bother me.

After the main meal was served, there were afters, and during those, the business of the awards ceremony, with speeches and accolades given and received for things I partially understood, to my relief, to people whose names were sometimes surprisingly familiar to me, from my own work, as well as from thumbing through Severus' potions journals, and reading his papers. A couple of times, I recognized that the work being awarded was, indeed, ground-breaking. Severus, Geoff, and the others commented on almost every presentation, sometimes calling out good-naturedly to those on stage, sometimes exchanging humorous comments more quietly at the table. Severus called up to one person, his chin raised, his face open, relaxed, and beautiful, and I had to shake myself awake, away from watching his throat as he made some comment that had others in the hall laughing, hooting, and clapping their amused agreement.

Tom leaned in at one point, when the room was fairly noisy, between presentations, to say, "I know you two probably have plans, but…" His eyes flicked to Severus' profile as he bent to say something to Geoff. "…if you would like, us younger blokes…" He gestured to Bill, Mario and Charlie, including himself in the gesture. "… are heading out to a pub for a pint. We'd love it if you'd join us. I'd love it."

I turned to him, confused, wondering if he was flirting with me. He blushed, glanced at Severus again, and cleared his throat. "No disrespect. I just would like to get to know you better. Just friends. I don't…"

His face was earnest and open and he looked so uncertain that I took pity on him. "It's all right," I said. "I'd love to go."

He smiled in such pleasure that I almost laughed. It felt good to be… wanted.

As the presentations wound down, Geoff took the stage again, and formally dismissed the company, thanking them for coming. Severus leaned over and explained that Geoff was treasurer of the society, and at my confused look, added something about the cooperation between IMPS and the Crystal Masters Guild, but it was too noisy for me to hear that well, and he waved it off, mouthing, "Later."

I leaned into him in turn, and said into his ear, "Tom and the others asked me to go for a pint with them – do you mind?"

I thought for just a moment that a flash of disappointment went across his face, but a moment later, it was gone, and I was sure it was just wishful thinking on my part. In any case, his eyes crinkled warmly. "Certainly, Harry. I'm sure you would like to spend at least some of your time with people closer to your own age."

I hesitated, wanting to correct that impression, but he did not give me the chance, turning to Geoff and saying, "It turns out I will have time for that chess game after all," and I wondered if I had missed an opportunity to spend the rest of the evening with him.

We stood to go, and he touched my elbow. "Do you have money?"

"Yes. Of course," I answered, not adding that Tom had said my pints would be on him – or them, or whatever.

Severus nodded, and I noticed his eyes surveying the group, stopping again on Mario and narrowing a bit. He looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and said simply, "Enjoy yourself." His eyes drifted back to the group, and he tensed subtly.

I nodded. "I will." I meant, I'll be careful, because I was sure that was what I had seen in his eyes. "Severus," I said, touching his elbow. He looked back at me. "The war is over."

He looked irritated at that, then snorted and shook his head. "I'll see you later, Potter. Don't forget, you present tomorrow."

"Yes, Professor," I said, laughing, and turned toward Tom, unaccountably warmed by the swat to the back of my head.


	8. Chapter 8

Missed Opportunities  
Chapter Eight

Tom led the group to a nearby pub, an English-styled place frequented by mostly Muggles, but with a smattering of magical signatures of… Wizards. There were only wizards in the pub, no witches. No female Muggles, either. The only table available was in the middle of the packed room. Televisions were suspended from the walls around the room, every one tuned to football. My head spun with the strangeness of it. Severus and I had always been the only wizards in the Muggle restaurants we frequented. To have so many wizards commingling with so many Muggles was… almost frightening. It made me tense, and I struggled to figure out the best place to sit, around the table, as we made our way to it – back to the bathroom… back to the front door? I felt naked and unprotected, and realized how much I had relied on Severus to back me up, if needed, on our ventures into the Muggle world. I shifted my shoulders irritably.

"Here we are!" Tom said, and gestured at the table as if he had conjured it from thin air. Making a decision, I chose a spot where I could watch the entrance and see out the front windows, but the position left my back feeling cold and vulnerable.

Charlie sat to my left, and Tom managed to place himself at my right. He lifted a hand to call the server over, and everyone ordered. Muggle establishment, I reminded myself, and ordered a pint and Amer Picon bitters, which the server recommended. When it came, I slipped my wand just slightly from my sleeve, my arm casually under the table, and uttered a spell. I couldn't help but imagine Snape's approving smirk as I did so. Other than the expected components, the drink was safe.

Tom, Charlie, Bill and Mario led the discussion, as they knew each other and some of the other conference attendees. It was difficult to talk, because the music was loud and discordant, and people came and went past our table, repeatedly bumping into us, since the place was so packed. Tom leaned close to talk to me, and Charlie kept one arm across the back of my chair. That actually helped me relax. Mario and Bill leaned across the others to talk, when they wanted to say something to me. Someone kicked my foot under the table, and I withdrew it. Whoever it was took it as an invitation to stretch out, and tapped my foot again. Irritated, I tucked my feet under my chair, curled around its legs, until I realized that would make it hard for me to escape…

Which thought abruptly caused me to realize how tense and uncomfortable I was becoming. I stilled, stopped listening to the conversation, and cast my senses out, trying to figure out where the threat I felt was coming from. Beyond our table, the pub was a teeming mass of moving, dancing, laughing people, and despite a bit of aggressive energy here and there, I felt no actual malevolence. I tightened my search to the immediate vicinity, and realized that it was Mario. That should have reassured me – just one of our party, drinking too much, being a little too forceful in his opinions, his interactions. I started to wonder just how well Tom and the others knew the man.

The conversation revolved around the conference, at first, before Tom turned to me and said, "So, Harry… how did you get into crystal work?" A round of "what do you do and how did you get into it" followed, and after that, questions about where we were educated. They had attended Beauxbatons, which lead to a long, humorous discussion about Veelas, because that's where my head went when they mentioned it, thinking of Fleur and her little sister Gabrielle.

When I said I had been educated at Hogwarts, Mario's eyes narrowed shrewdly, and Bill said, "Hold on. You were at Hogwarts? In Scotland?"

"Yeah. It's a brilliant school!" I said, prepared to describe everything I loved about my _alma mater_.

Mario leaned forward, from across the table. "You're the right age to be him, then."

"Him who?" I asked, my stomach going cold.

"You're that Harry Potter," he said, his voice flat, almost accusing.

"Uh…"

"Wait. You can't be that Harry Potter, can you? I mean… you're too young! What are you – twenty-three?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," I said, shifting uncomfortably.

"So… you're not him, then. I mean, that bloke did some serious magic, if the stories are true. He'd have to be some sort of… master wizard of all time, or something, to have done away with that maniac!"

That explained why relatively few people had recognized me, amongst Severus' colleagues, I guessed. The events that were so momentous in Britain had not impacted France nearly as much… and probably had not affected the Americas at all, I supposed… It was strange, to think that something that seemed to threaten the whole world, my whole world, just a few years ago, might have been a limited conflict really… at least… it turned out to be limited, given that Voldemort was no longer alive to spread his power base beyond British shores.

"I mean – everyone knows Voldemort was the strongest wizard alive" Charlie continued, pronouncing Voldemort's name without the t sound, making it French. Bill and Tom readily agreed, to my relief, though I was bemused to realize that here, not everyone knew the whole of it.

Except Dumbledore. And Severus, I thought. But I did not say that. "Yeah, well… he was certainly the most evil, anyway."

Though Bill, Tom, and Charlie nodded vigorously and made sounds of agreement, Mario leaned back in his chair and sipped thoughtfully at his pint. Thankfully, the conversation turned to general politics, which, in France, seemed to be perpetually turbulent, based on what they described, and that included the Muggle world, not just the French Ministry. The others continued drinking at what I considered a shocking rate, but I put it down to the difference in culture, and stuck to lime and water after I finished my pint and bitters, with the excuse that I needed to be clear-headed for my presentation in the morning.

I realized, at some point, that I needed the loo, and stood to look over heads to find it. Spotting the sign, I murmured something to Tom, and threaded my way through the tables toward the back of the pub. When I finished my business and turned to go, I bumped into Mario – literally, as he swung the door open just as I reached for the handle. I murmured an apology and turned to go. He grabbed my arm.

"_Monsieur_ Potter," he said, "perhaps you would do me the favor of a dance."

"Oh. Uh – I don't dance."

"It is no big thing," he said, "I will show you how. I lead, you follow. It is easy."

"Um… no. I don't think so."

"What? The English think they are too good for the French?"

"No! Not at all. I don't dance," I said affirmatively. "Now if you don't mind, I have a presentation to prepare for tomorrow." I pushed past him, realizing I had my wand in my hand without conscious decision.

I made it to the table without incident, and managed not to look behind me, fighting down paranoia and wishing I had stayed in with Severus.

"I need to get back to the hotel," I said, pulling Muggle money from my pocket. Tom put out his hand. "No need. You are a guest in our country – and you make exquisite stirring rods and vials… for which you charge far too few galleons! Allow me to treat you. Hold on a moment, and we will all walk back together." He looked around. "Where is Mario?

"Loo," I said flatly.

By the time we were ready to go, Mario was back, annoyed when Tom announced we were leaving. We walked back to the hotel, and I managed to walk next to Charlie and Tom, keeping Mario, with Bill, ahead of us, where I could see him, fingering my wand, still tucked up my sleeve. We entered the lift together, but to my dismay, Tom, Bill and Charlie got off at the fifth floor. Mario stood silently as we rode to the seventh floor, and followed me when I got out. I paused at the vending area, pretending to be checking for something to drink, but he stopped when I did. Inhaling deeply, and firming up my grip on my wand, I turned toward my room, hoping that Severus would be inside.

I slipped the key into the slot, but before it wiggled, Mario grabbed my arm. I jerked it away, catching him in the chest with my elbow. He reeked of alcohol.

"How about a kiss, then, _ma chère_?"

"No. Thank you."

"But why? It is just a kiss, _joli garcon_."

"No. Please let go," I said, as he made another grab for my arm.

"Why? It is just the two of us. No one need ever know. Not your _Monsieur_ Snape."

"_Monsieur_ Snape," I growled, mangling the accent, "is waiting for me on the other side of this door. Now, if you do not want the wizard who fought Voldemort and won to take _you_ out next, let me go."

His eyes widened. "It is you! _Sainte Mère de Merlin_!" he said, holding a hand to his mouth and stumbling back.

I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and reached behind me to wiggle the key in the lock, keeping my eyes on him. The door opened, and I slipped inside, but not before he recovered and cast a calculating look at me.

I stopped just inside the door. Severus was sitting at the small writing table, clad only in black silk pajamas. I would have smiled, if I had not been so shaken – of course they were black! His long feet were bare, toes curling and uncurling in the deep pile of the carpet as if playing with the texture. One hand held a book; the other was curled at his chin, and his long hair hid half his face, shadowed in the flickering light of the fireplace. I gasped softly. He was… beautiful… so beautiful. It shook me that I noticed that, even when I was shaken by having to shove Mario off.

Severus appeared too deeply involved in his reading to notice me. I was wrong. Without looking away from his book, he said, "Trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I said, trying to stifle a shiver – whether from dealing with Mario or from wanting so badly to go curl myself into, around, within this man, I did not know.

He looked up and whatever he saw on my face captured his attention, and he looked me over as if searching for evidence of injury. "Sure you're alright?" I could feel the tension curl in his body from across the room.

I recovered, forced myself to relax, and moved into the room, toward my bed, half aware that I did so to be closer to him. "Yeah. No big deal. Mario wanted… something I was unwilling to give."

Severus just looked at me.

"How… how was your evening?" I asked, to divert him. "You and… Geoff…" I nearly choked on the name. "… have a good time?" I watched him out of my peripheral vision, not wanting to look at him directly… yet wanting to.

Severus shut his book and set it down, his movements deliberate and slow, and I knew he was still watching me, assessing. "Yes. We shared a nice game of chess."

"Oh."

His lips twitched. "What exactly did you think we were going to be doing?"

I felt myself turning red and kept my head down as I stripped off my outer robe and toed off my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head at that, but he seemed to relax, as if I had confirmed that I was – physically, at least, well.

"I… I thought you might have some… catching up to do."

"Hmm…"

"You know…" I dared to look up at him. "Old friends and all…"

He frowned slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You and he had a… a thing, didn't you? I mean…"

His frown increased and he shook his head in denial. "I have known Geoff for four years, but..."

"But…"

His face cleared, abruptly, and he lifted his chin. "You thought that we were dating." It was not a question.

I just looked at him.

"Potter… Harry… Geoff is straight. He's married. He has a wife and three children. We have never been more than friends." He said this with great seriousness, as if it were critically important that I believe him. Not even a twitch of amusement crossed his face, and none was evident in his tone.

A flush of some strong feeling coursed through me and I felt suddenly weak. It was almost painful… it was bliss… it was hopeful. My stomach clenched in denial of that. "But… _The Prophet_…"

He snorted and raised an eyebrow. "And as we all know, _The Prophet_ is committed to journalistic integrity. Every word they print is the utter truth, completely lacking in speculation. And Rita Skeeter…"

"All right! All right!" I protested, lifting a hand. "I'm sorry – it's… that was stupid. I… You're right. I should not take _The Prophet_ as a valid source of information." I rolled my eyes, appalled at myself.

"Indeed," he said, his lips pursed, not at all amused.

"But… I thought… when… that day…"

"I had a meeting with Geoff to discuss a bit of Society business – a member who needed to be disciplined. I sit on the Ethics Committee, and Geoff was chair that year."

"… Oh." My relief was so strong that my body chilled and heated in turn. I was shaking. I tried to control it, afraid he would see.

"I should have explained. I apologize."

"No. No – it's my fault. I assumed… I should have just asked you."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Anything else you have put off asking? Gossip you would like to clear up?"

I looked down and realized I was clenching my robe so tightly, I was creasing it. I forced my hands to let go, rubbed them on my thighs, inhaled, and turned to sit on the bed, drawing up one knee so that I could face him, and took a deep breath, meeting his eyes.

"You're gay."

He laughed lightly. "I should think that evident, yes. As are you."

"I…" I squeaked. "How do you know? I never…"

His lips curled in a gentle smile.

"But I never… I mean…" I blushed at the hole I had dug myself into, then steeled my nerves. "I've never… you know…" I waved a vague hand, and then blinked at the look on his face. "What?"

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and he sounded like it – genuinely sorry, I mean. "You're a young man, Harry. I would wish for you a… less lonely existence."

"I'm not lonely!" I protested. I have you.

He laughed lightly and narrowed his eyes. "A man your age should be… enjoying the pleasures of the flesh." His eyes sparkled with something like mischief.

"Yeah, well – so should you," I challenged, without thinking. Oh, god!

His eyes warmed even more, but he said nothing.

"So… do you… did you… are you…?" I stammered, feeling my face and neck burn.

"I have, yes. Did you think me a virgin?" He smiled, but it was not mocking, and the warmth remained in his eyes, along with something else I could not identify.

"Oh. Uh... no. Of course not," I said, feeling slightly sick and defeated. I had one more question. "So… is there anyone special…?"

The gentle smile was back on his face, and his eyes never left mine. "Yes. There is," he said softly.

Someone very special. Only someone very special could have put that look on his face.

"Oh," I said, feeling all my hopes disappear again in a flash.

I sat for a moment, dropping my eyes to my hands, which were clutching the coverlet, forced my fingers to let go. I inhaled and murmured, "I… need to use the loo," and rose without another word, turned my back on him, and fled before the tears prickling behind my eyelids could fall and betray me.

He was standing by his bed when I finally got myself to leave the bathroom. I did not look at him as I made my way to my own bed, flipped back the covers and slid underneath, pulling them up to my neck, and turning my back to him, feeling the need to… hide, maybe. I listened to him move about the room, enter, use, and leave the loo, slip into his own bed and punch his pillow into shape. There was silence for a moment, then, almost too quietly for me to hear, he said, "Goodnight… Harry."

I inhaled a deep, painful breath, and exhaled an equally, "Goodnight, Severus," and allowed the tears to leave my eyes and leak down to soak into my pillow, trying desperately not to let them break into sobs, as Severus murmured, "Nox."

I was better in the morning… resigned… again… maybe. In any case, I was nervous. My presentation was scheduled for nine, and I was up by six, showering and dressing as quietly as I could, so as not to wake Severus. Of course, that was useless. He was up before I donned my socks, moving equally silently. By the time he left the bathroom, I was at the desk, feverishly reviewing my paper, panic beginning to overwhelm me. Why had I let him talk me into this? I would rather have faced yet another Ministry function than this. I was freezing and shivering, and I knew it was nerves. I nearly jumped out of my skin when his warm hand landed on my shoulder.

"Potter."

"Bloody hell, Severus! Don't do that!" I had kicked back from the desk, and my wand was out and aimed at his solar plexus before I even registered the movement. I sank back to the chair and wiped at my forehead.

"Nice to see you have your priorities straight," he said, dryly amused.

"Not funny, you bloody git!" I shoved at him, and his amusement deepened, and he turned away.

I was tempted to hex him, but he said, "Don't even think it, Potter. Leave your paper. You need to eat."

I sputtered an objection, and her turned back to glare at me, and then rolled his eyes. "Bring it, then. But breakfast. You won't think as clearly on an empty stomach." When I still hesitated, he said, "Eat, and I'll help you suss out your room and get you settled."

That sounded… helpful, so I nodded in concession, gathered the papers I had scattered in my reaction to being touched, grabbed my key, stuck my wand up my sleeve – at which Severus nodded approvingly again, and walked up to where he stood at the door. He stood in my way, though, and his warm eyes looked me up and down, then returned to my face. "You'll do," he said with a smile.

"Git."

He reached to brush some imaginary lint off my shoulders again, and I caught the movement in the mirror. His face was focused, serious. "You'll do fine," he said, tapping my shoulder once for emphasis.

"Good luck, dearies," the mirror said, as we left the room.

I don't remember breakfast. I'm sure I did not register at all what I was eating, only taking in whatever Severus put in front of me, and not much of it, while he chatted, seemingly unconcerned, with whoever it was who shared our table. I fidgeted more and more until he finally put down his napkin and stood smoothly.

"Gentlemen," he said, nodding around, "and ladies…" I hadn't even noticed we had been joined by a couple of young witches. "Harry – after you." He gestured toward the door, and I stood hastily, wished everyone a good morning, and preceded him out of the room, his presence at my back a reassuring warmth.

The next half hour or so is a blur in my memory, made up of hands waving wands to settle the podium in the center of the front of the room, introductions and handshakes from people I don't remember now, final instructions about the _Sonorus_ and projection spells, some junior wizard asking me if I required water, and Severus countermanding my denial… I was vaguely aware that he cast a detection spell at the pitcher of water and the glass the wizard conjured for me. Then he was tugging lightly at my robe to straighten it, though I am pretty sure that was unnecessary.

"I'll be in the back of the room – there," he said, pointing subtly. "You'll be fine. Break a leg." The last was said with a wry smile, and suddenly, I was alone at the front of a room that had filled with witches and wizards without my notice.

Geoff came up to me from the side of the stage, and shook my hand, smiling at me warmly, and I suddenly realized, Oh my God… they're just friends! My relief came out of me in a huge whoosh of breath, and I grinned at him.

"Bit nervous?" he asked. "Don't be. Anyone gives you trouble, I'll turn them into a flutterby bush." He laughed at my startlement. "That is, if Severus gives me time. I'm afraid he'd be faster on the draw than I would – especially given it's you."

With that confusing statement, he turned to the crowd, raised his wand to cast the _Sonorus_, and called for everyone's attention.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." He raised a hand to quell the by-now-familiar catcalls. "Now, now! Let's not start that. Our presenter this morning is here before us for his first time – and I have reason to hope it will not be his last. Let's not frighten him away, shall we?"

Warm laughter and calls of agreement met his words and he lifted his hands again. "Settle down! Settle down! It is my distinct pleasure to introduce one of the newest and youngest members of the Crystal Masters Guild, Crystal Master Harry Potter. Master Potter comes to us, of course, from Great Britain, where he completed his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and went on to advanced training at…"

I let the review of my resume wash over me, glad I had omitted any mention of the war, looking over the crowd and finding Severus, as he said he would be. He was standing just inside the door at the back of the packed room, arms crossed, right on top of left. I could see him fingering his sleeve, and knew he was feeling for his wand. Hazily worried, I looked around the room, noting the presence of pairs of wizards and witches standing at the walls, rather than seated. When I realized one of them was Robards, from the Auror's Department at the British Ministry, I started, and flicked my eyes to Snape. He nodded and lifted his chin at the pairs, then turned his eyes back to mine, nodding again, taking a deliberately relaxed stance. I relaxed, as well, and realized Geoff was coming to the end of his introduction.

"…and so, my friends and colleagues, please welcome our presenter, Mister Harry Potter. Crystal Master…" He gestured to the podium. I stepped up, took a sip of the water Severus had poured and protected for me, and uttered the _Sonorus_.

"Good morning. I'm a little nervous," I said, my fingers trembling as I picked up my papers.

"No worries, Harry!" someone called, and there was a smattering of laughter. I looked around the room and spotted Tom, sitting with the ever-present Bill and Charlie, who waved at me, and smiled at them gratefully.

"The title of my presentation is Exothermic Reactivity of Grignard versus Collins Reagents in the Creation of Vials for Healing Potions. Let me first explain a bit about the purpose of reagents in working crystal and glass…" I flicked my wand and the first in the series of images I had prepared floated in the air behind me…

Forty-five minutes later, my presentation complete, the audience broke into applause. I looked to the back of the room, where Severus nodded his approval, though he was not clapping, his right hand still on the spot where his wand was tucked. I could not see his eyes from where I stood, so I was not certain what he actually thought. My attention went back to the audience when someone called out, "Mister Potter, may I ask a question?"

Fifteen minutes later, I was hustled off the stage by Geoff, who had finally called a halt to the questions. It was over. I had finished. I realized I was sweating only because the papers in my hand were damp. Geoff kept an arm across my shoulders and guided me through the crowd, waving off people who would have stopped us, to where Severus waited, relieving me of the papers as we met.

"Let me have those, if you don't mind, Crystal Master," he said with a wink at Severus. "I'll be wanting to publish your paper, you know," he said to me, and then more seriously, "That was quite impressive, young man. You have an illustrious career ahead of you. I hope you will consider… Never mind. I'm getting ahead of myself. Severus – I leave him in your capable hands. I hope you gentlemen will join me and Meredith for dinner this evening?" Severus agreed, and I nodded. "I'll be off, then. Have to introduce Ashton." He rolled his eyes, and Severus laughed in commiseration.

Several people shook hands with me, begged cards, or asked whether they could owl me for a catalog of my wares, as the room emptied. "How did I do?" I asked when there was finally the space to do so.

Severus smiled slightly, though his eyes continued to scan the room behind me. "You were inspirational, Mister Potter. The IMPS will be beating a path to your door." There was a slight edge to his voice.

"Is something wrong?"

He pulled his gaze away from the room, looked at me, then looked down at his hands, wrapped around the wand I hadn't realized he had pulled from his sleeve. He spun it a moment before replacing it up his sleeve and raising his eyes to me again. "No," he said, but the look on his face said otherwise.

"Severus, what…?"

"Come. The next presenter needs the room, and there are presentations you should hear, especially…" He did not finish.

Severus led us from presentation to presentation, giving us little time to talk. What time there might have been was taken up with people wanting to talk with him, and surprisingly, with me. He guided me through it all, hand on my elbow or at my back, introducing me to some people, fending off others, standing guard silently at my back at other times. Tom, Bill and Charlie came up to ask me to dinner again, but I begged off, glad we had already accepted another invitation, even when Severus leaned in and said, his breath tickling my ear, "Are you certain?"

I turned to look at him. "I hardly think it would be wise of me to turn down an invitation from the head of my Guild, Severus." I intended to sound like him when I said it, and a flicker of amusement in his eyes suggested he had caught that. "Besides," I said, whispering back, though I barely reached his shoulder, let alone his ear, "I'd rather spend the evening with you, if you don't mind." His eyes crinkled at that and a tension he had been carrying all day seemed to leave him.

"If you can manage not to be too insufferable, I suppose I could tolerate your presence," he said in a long-suffering tone. I flashed a grin at him, and his hand on my back pressed me through the crowd to our next meeting.

Dinner with Severus and Geoff and Meredith Crittenden was surprisingly enjoyable. Geoff took us off to a Muggle restaurant Severus and I had not been in before, where exotic sea foods, unusually-named drinks, and dancing were all on the menu, the lit fish tanks filled with colorful and unusual creatures – none of which were on the menu, Geoff assured us – creating shifting light and shadow over the diners and dancers. It was a beautiful place, and felt very intimate, despite the number of patrons it accommodated.

We had no difficulty hearing each other, despite the background music. Severus leaned toward me, when he found me looking around searching for the edges of a _Muffliato_ spell, and said something about Muggle sound-dampening materials that I did not quite follow. He laughed lightly at my confusion, and just for a moment, I thought I felt his hand squeeze my knee, but then he was reaching to pour water for Meredith, and I was sure I had imagined it.

The discussion ranged widely, but kept returning to my talk and the vials and stirring rods I had displayed. Geoff surreptitiously withdrew his wand, tapped the table, and carefully opened the wooden box that held the vial he had purchased the previous day, showing it off. The candlelight at the table caught its facets and cast a rainbow of colors – mostly in rosy pink – across our table and those around us. Meredith was captivated, and suggested I consider making jewelry – charmed bits of crystal or tiny vials to wear around ones neck. Severus and Geoff had other thoughts. My fingers itched for a quill to keep track of ideas, and Severus withdrew from his pocket – of all things – a Muggle fountain pen, and Geoff laughed and conjured a tablet of paper.

Severus had to knock at my elbow to get me to leave off contemplating the possibilities when dessert arrived, a delicious chocolate confection that he licked off his spoon, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a smirk on his face.

Dear god! I wanted to lick… something… myself.

"Would you favor me with a dance, my dear?"

I was nudged out of staring at Severus when Geoff pushed back from the table and held a hand out to his wife. She rose gracefully, and they left us at the table alone. Severus set down his dessert spoon – fortunately for my dignity – and took up a cup of demitasse, and then spoiled my relief by licking a trail of dark liquid from the lip of the cup.

Damn the man! I did my best not to groan, but did not succeed in turning my eyes away. He eyed me speculatively, and I held my breath.

"Care to dance?"

"What?"

"I asked if you would care to dance."

Holy sweet Merlin!

"I… I don't dance, Severus. I mean – I don't know how, really. I'd be stepping all over your shoes. Really."

He continued to eye me. "Pity," he said, and my stomach dropped, as if I had just lost the most incredible opportunity of my lifetime.

Potter, you idiot! I told myself – in his voice.

I didn't know what to say, and awkwardly scraped at my chocolate mousse, but it seemed to have turned to chalk, somehow, in the last few minutes. Severus stood suddenly and said, "You'll excuse me…" and turned away from the table. I had the absurd impulse to follow him… to grab him by the arm… to drag him to the dance floor, but instead, I watched him walk away, kicking myself. It took me several panicky moments to realize he had not gone to find another dance partner, but to the loo. I felt stupidly guilty about how glad I was at that. And then my mind went into overdrive anyway, wondering if he was going to wank in the loo – though I was pretty sure he had too much class to do that… and besides, I was the one with the raging… problem… not him. Or maybe he was going to meet someone in one of the stalls and have a quick… I mean… I knew some men do that…

No. No, he wouldn't do that. Right?

I spent a good five minutes calling myself all kinds of a fool, and picturing all kinds of things I had no business picturing, so that by the time Severus returned to the table, all dash and sophistication, I felt an urgent need to go home. But there was one more day of conference to get through… and one more night of sharing a room with a man I suddenly felt I did not know at all… could not make sense of in the slightest.

Severus, however, without seeming out of sorts at all, merely picked up the discussion of the various other things I could make from crystal and glass where we had left off, before dessert, particularly lingering over the idea of miniature potions vials that could be worn about the neck, or even smaller ones that could be secreted in rings or hidden in the linings of robes, so that in short while, we were talking comfortably and enthusiastically about… business.

Geoff and Meredith came back to the table flushed and smiling and holding hands, but did not sit down. "We should probably get back," Geoff said. "Will you be coming back with us, or did you…?"

"You go on ahead," Severus said. "Potter and I will just finish up here and walk back ourselves."

"We'll see you tomorrow then," Geoff said. He held out a hand. "Mister Potter, it has truly been a pleasure. I hope you will present at the Crystal Master's Guild meeting next August. We're meeting across the Pond, I'm afraid, but I am sure the trip would be worth your while."

"I'll consider it," I said, standing to shake hands. He held my hand a moment longer than necessary, pulled me toward him, and said, in a stage whisper that I was sure Severus heard, "Get him to settle down, will you?" He nodded in Severus' direction.

I shook my head and frowned in bemusement, but Geoff let go, and Meredith took his place, kissing my cheeks in the French manner, and laughing. "It's just an excuse. You're such a handsome man! Geoff would be jealous if we were anywhere other than France!"

"Meredith!" Snape growled, and though I did not turn toward him to see his face, his voice warmed me.

The Crittendens left, and Severus stood, flipping his robe across his shoulders.

"I thought…" I began, but he plucked my robe from the back of my chair and handed it to me. Confused, I settled it around me, and Severus tugged to straighten it, then took my arm to guide me through the tables and out the door, nodding thanks to the doorman as we left. He turned us to the left, though I was sure our hotel was to the right.

"You haven't seen much of Paris at night, have you?" he commented.

"Oh. No. Um… we were always here for lunch," I pointed out.

"Mmm. Well, it's beautiful by night. You should see it, at least once."

It was cold, of course, being January. I shivered, and he cast a warming charm, tucking my arm through his to keep me close enough for it to cover us both. He shortened his step to accommodate the difference in our stride, and we set off. I felt off-balance, confused, warmed, and strangely excited, simultaneously, exquisitely aware of the warmth of my hand, snugged between his elbow and his side. I walked alongside him, in somewhat of a daze, wondering what on earth I was doing, walking in the most romantic city in the world – or so it was said – in the night, with Severus Snape.

We ended up at the Eiffel Tower, lit in shades of blue, a wreath of light still celebrating Christmas from two weeks prior. I had seen it in daylight, of course, but never at night, when it seemed more fragile, as if magic alone kept it up, or as if it were made of beams of blue light. It was breathtaking, and I turned to Severus to say so, but the words stuck in my throat. He had thrown his head back, looking up at the structure. The blue light reflecting on his skin, his already blue-black hair, and the black of his eyes made him look like some spectral angel, sent down from heaven. My chest seized with how beautiful he was, and again, I was filled with what seemed to be becoming a never-ending sense of longing and loss.

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes seeming lit from within, and he said, "Beautiful…"

"Yes."

Time stopped for just those moments. If I had been a braver man… if I had been as impulsive as I was supposed to be, Gryffindor that I am, I would have grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled his head down to mine, and kissed him. But again, my courage failed me.

He held my eyes for long moments, his face as open as I had ever seen it, warm despite the cold I could feel pinching at the edges of his spell. The almost-smile on his face deepened momentarily, and then he inhaled and looked away.

Is it possible to… talk yourself out of being in love? It was hopeless. He was hopelessly out of my reach. He was beautiful and handsome and brilliant and lived in circles of influence that I could never be part of, never even understand. I could never be part of his world, not really. What was I doing there, pretending to have something of value to offer? He was so beautiful. And he didn't even know it. He reached for me again, tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow and patting it, as if reassuring me of something, and turned us back toward the hotel, walking slowly as if savoring the night.

I wanted it to never end. I needed to get back to Hermione, to Ron, to my workshop. I needed to stop wanting it… wanting him.

I didn't think I ever would.

I readied for bed in silence, slipping past him carefully, as if his touch would burn me, if I happened to brush against him. I kept my eyes averted, certain he would see, if I looked at him. I cursed my cowardice. I cursed my stupid Gryffindor inability to hide my feelings. I cursed my decision to come to Paris. And then I didn't, because even though I could not have everything, at least I had this. And friendship. Which I would not give up for anything. By the time I slid into bed I was calmer.

"Goodnight, Severus," I managed, and sounded calm, I thought.

"Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."


	9. Chapter 9

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Nine

The final day of the conference was anticlimactic, filled with interesting presentations and more handshakes. I had ticked off some talks I wanted to see, and at breakfast, Severus shook his head at some, nodded approvingly at others, and indicated which he would be attending. There was little overlap – my choices were clearly marked for lower-level, less experienced wizards, his for advanced practitioners. We agreed to meet for dinner, but to go our own way for lunch, unless we happened to bump into each other.

Although I looked for him during breaks in my schedule, I did not see him, and was glad, in a way, as it helped me regain my balance. Bill came up to me during the second hour, and tagged along with me for the rest of the morning, and we had lunch with Tom and Charlie. Mario was apparently on some other schedule, or perhaps he was avoiding me, after two nights before. In any case, he did not insinuate himself into our group, and the four of us had an amicable lunch, exchanged contact information, and then headed off to our afternoon presentations.

The conference ended at five, merely petering out with final presentations rather than any closing ceremony or presentation. Severus appeared out of nowhere, suddenly just there, nodding, shaking hands, and waving farewell to colleagues as he made his way through the thinning crowd to where I was exchanging a few last words with Tom, who was telling me he intended to visit England in a few weeks. Severus stood by as I gave him directions to my shop in Diagon Alley, and shook Tom's hand after he and I had said our goodbyes. We collected the few items I had left from my wares, arranged for them to be transported back to England, shrank our travel bags, and stood in line for the floo. We arrived in the Leaky Cauldron without incident, and turned to the Muggle-side door. On the street, I stopped awkwardly.

"Do you… would you like to come to my place for… tea… or something?"

"Thank you, but no. I would like to unpack and get settled. However, as I recall…" Severus smirked, "it is your turn to choose a restaurant, and this is an 'on' week. I will await your owl."

I laughed and shook my head. "Could we do somewhere other than Paris?"

"Your choice, _Monsieur Potter_," he said, giving it a French twist.

I groaned and laughed again, looking around Muggle London. "Feels good to be home."

"Mmm," he said, noncommittally. "Thursday. Owl me."

I nodded and turned to go.

"Potter," he said, and I turned back. "Well done."

I grinned my thanks, and he turned and walked off in the opposite direction from Grimmauld Place.

It felt like I had been away a month, not merely a few days. I was home no more than ten minutes, and Kreacher was still hanging up my belongings, when the floo flared and Hermione's head appeared.

"Harry, are you home?" she called. "Oh, you're back! Can I come through, then?"

"Of course, Hermione. Come on. I'll get tea going," I said, not even waiting for her to step through. "Come on down to the kitchen."

Hermione was, as usual, a good listener, laughing, clapping, gasping and asking questions at all the right places, concluding with, "Oh, Harry! Well done!" when I told her about my talk. She clapped her hands over her mouth when I told her Severus asked me to dance.

"Harry! He asked you to dance? In public?" Her eyes were wide.

I tried not to feel offended. "What? You don't think he should have asked me? I mean, I know I'm pants at dancing but…"

"Harry – no, of course not! But…"

"But what?" I asked defensively.

"Harry… you're not exactly out."

"What? Oh!" I was flabbergasted. "Oh. Wow. I… Hermione… do… do you think it would… um… do you think it would make a difference?"

"Of course it would make a difference, Harry!"

I was stunned. My stomach sank, my heart pounded, and my chest hurt.

"Harry, if everyone knew you're gay… and dating... Oh my god, we have to go shopping!"

"What?"

She looked me up and down. "Harry, you're a very good looking man, you know that, don't you?"

I shook my head. What?

"People will expect you to be… well… a little more put together, you know? I mean… you have an image to keep up, don't you? And you've never paid much attention to what you wear. Not that you look bad…" she hastened to assure me. "But once you go public… Oh my god, you're going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly!" She was talking at that fast pace she gets when she is overly excited about something, and my brain had slowed down, so that the upshot was that she wasn't making sense to me.

"What? Hermione, Witch Weekly is for witches!"

She laughed. "And it circulates equally well among the gay community, Harry! We have to go shopping!" Her eyes had acquired that acquisitive gleam that only witches get for clothes shopping.

"Hermione… uh… I didn't dance with him."

"I know, Harry, but… Ohhhh!" She shook her hands in a frenzied motion, then grabbed them to stop herself, for which I was glad.

"What?" I demanded.

She sat down, took a deep breath, folded her hands into her lap, and looked at me very seriously. "Harry. Severus Snape asked you to dance with him. Severus Snape, Harry."

"I know, Hermione. So what?"

"Harry… Snape only dances with men he's dating."

"What?"

"He said so – in that article in The Prophet I showed you – remember?"

"Hermione… you show me every article in The Prophet that he's in."

"True. Well… anyway, that's what he said. Some reporter asked him if he would dance with her, and he said…" Hermione took a deep breath and her eyes took on that focused look she gets whenever she recites from memory. "'Thank you, but no. I am reserving my dances for a special man – a very special man.'" She sighed and clasped her hands to her chest. "He's so dreamily romantic!"

"Hermione!" I barked, and she looked at me and giggled.

"So you see – you're a 'very special man' to him!"

I think my whole body chilled… in a good way… and all I could do is stare at her dumbly and say, "Oh." After a few moments, I said, in a small voice, "Hermione… I said 'no'."

She smiled at me, totally unruffled. "That's all right, Harry. I know how you're going to get to 'yes'."


	10. Chapter 10

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Ten

Thursday, Severus and I met at the Italian place for a third time. I expected some snide remark about my lack of imagination or some such comment, but instead, he greeted me with a smile, slid into his chair, and leaned back, closing his eyes a moment, and giving a sigh of contentment. "Good choice. I must admit, I was rather hoping you'd suggest it."

I raised a hand to the waiter, who came over to ask us what we would like to drink, and ordered a bottle of the wine I knew Severus preferred. He raised an eyebrow in mild inquiry, and I shrugged. "Just felt like something relaxing. You've got good taste."

I raised my head from the menu to find him studying me, his gaze sliding up and down almost caressingly, and I felt a frisson of trepidation. I had no idea what I was doing. Not really.

I was wearing a black shirt and trousers, a silk tie that was a shade deeper green than my eyes, and a grey jacket that fit like it was made for me. I loved it. It had the most amazing texture, and flowed perfectly down my arms and hips – and it was a bit more expensive than what I usually wore, and looked it. The minute I had tried it on, I knew I had to have it. When I turned to ask Hermione's opinion, the look on her face was all the confirmation I needed. Fortunately, my sales from the week in Paris cushioned the shock I received when I asked the price, and I inhaled, and reminded myself that… it might be worth it.

I cleared my throat, and he brought his eyes to mine. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought his face had a bit more… color… to it than usual. "So, what are you going to have tonight?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

Stick to the plan, Harry.

We ordered. I leaned over to point out something on the menu, and allowed my fingers to brush against the back of his thumb, as if by accident. He gripped the menu a bit more tightly, then put it on the table and reached for his wine.

"Are you alright, Severus? You seem distracted."

"Hmm? No, I'm fine," he said, dangling his wine glass between his fingers, elbows uncharacteristically on the table. He seemed to keep losing himself and having to pull his attention back to our conversation. He ran his fingers up and down the stem of his glass, as if he were agitated.

I took a sip of my wine and licked my lips. "Mmm. Good." I put the glass back on the table and ran a finger up the stem to catch a bit that had spilled, contemplated the deep red drop, and licked it off my finger. His eyes followed.

Oh, god! I can't believe I'm doing this!

He straightened up abruptly, as if he had caught himself at it, and looked down at the table, then away, to where the waiter was attending to another table, as if he did not remember ordering.

I shivered. That's enough of that… for now.

"So… how was your lab?"

He frowned. "My lab? Fine. Why? Was your shop…?"

I waved a hand. "The shop's fine." I let the game drop out of my mind altogether - it felt manipulative and ungenuine, if that's a word, anyway - and leaned forward, matching his posture, with a bit of a smile. "I had a dozen owls waiting for me – orders and inquiries."

"I'm surprised it was only a dozen."

I laughed. "Alright… maybe a bit more." In truth, I had received more than two dozen. "A bit overwhelming, actually. I'm going to have to figure out a system to keep track of orders. And how to cover the shop, if I'm going to have time to…" I groaned. "I really want to do research, too. You know – continue to develop vials for different purposes, explore the properties of different types of crystal and their interactions with different potions… maybe even make some of the jewelry Meredith was talking about. I want to make some goblets, too, and…" I know my eyes became unfocused as I thought about the things I wanted to do – a lifetime of exploration I was excited to begin.

I looked up to find an indulgent smile on Severus' face, and flushed. "Plenty of time for all that, I imagine. Your career is only beginning, Harry."

I snorted and shook my head. "I'll never accomplish what you have, though."

His eyes warmed, but he denied it. "You have the potential. Don't sell yourself short." He had said that before. "You're going to need a shop assistant, though."

"Yeah – that's what Hermione said." This was my opening. "By the way," I said as casually as I could, "she and Ron got engaged a while back."

Snape sniffed in amusement, reminding me of McGonagall. "That was expected, surely."

"Yeah. April. Mrs. Weasley is already frantic. Hermione says invitations will be going out next week." I hesitated just a moment. "And that you'll be getting one."

He actually smiled at that. "That's kind of her."

"She and Ron really want you to come. No, really!" I insisted at his disbelieving snort. Before he could say anything – especially before he could say he would not go, I added, "I was wondering…" I took a breath and finished in a rush, "if you would go as my escort."

His eyes widened and his wineglass slipped in his hands before he caught it and placed it carefully on the table, then linked his hands together loosely, and eyed me contemplatively. "You're serious."

"Yeah. I mean… we're both going anyway, so I thought…"

"I did not say I would go."

"But… but would you? Go as my escort?" I held my breath.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Harry… do they even know you're…" He waved a hand between us. "…gay?"

"What? Yeah. Yeah – of course. I mean… Ron and Hermione do. And Bill, at least. And I'm guessing Ron probably told his parents and brothers…"

"You're guessing."

"Well, yeah. I mean… no one keeps things a secret in that family, you know."

He took a sip from his wine glass and set it down again. "Your friend Ron did."

I was silent a few moments. He had a point. I actually did not know if anyone other than Ron, Hermione, and Bill – who had overheard one of our discussions at the Burrow – knew.

"If you are hoping to use me to ease your coming out…"

"What? No! That's not it at all! I just wanted you to be my escort." I was horrified that he thought such a thing… and absolutely certain that meant he would not consent… or would consent only to help me come out. "Never mind, then. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you," I said, discouraged.

"Harry…"

I couldn't look at him. I couldn't.

"Harry…"

I took a deep breath, tried to call back the moisture prickling behind my eyelids, and looked up at him, fighting to maintain my dignity.

"I would consider it an honor to accompany you to the Granger-Weasley wedding."

"You don't have to do that. Not if you think I'm using you."

"I apologize. I should not have insinuated…"

I snorted.

"I should not have insinuated such a thing. I know you would not… You're not a Slytherin."

I snorted again.

"Harry," he said firmly, "I sincerely apologize, and I would be delighted to accompany you to the Granger-Weasley wedding… as your... escort."

"If you're sure," I said, acutely aware that somehow the tables had turned and he was now convincing me, rather than the other way around.

He smiled in apology and raised his glass in invitation. "I am sure," he said, and my heart suddenly rediscovered it had wings.

"I… I'm standing up, you know – Ron asked me to be his best man, so I'll have other duties."

He nodded. "Rehearsal dinner, no doubt. And you'll have to be there early that day. Bachelor party for your best friend… Helping him pick out what to wear… A formal toast to the bride and groom… You'll be a busy man."

I wondered if he was convincing himself he would not have to spend much time with me.

"I will make myself available for any assistance I can provide… or should you require an… escort."

My breath caught. "You will?"

He smiled. "A wedding is a process, Potter, not an event." I groaned and hung my head, and he smirked. "That's what you get for consenting to be best man."

"Maybe we could talk them into eloping."

"What – and disappoint Molly?" At my look of horror, he laughed openly. "That would not be the best way for Miss Granger to begin her married life. In fact, you will have to satisfy Molly, as well, some day, I should expect."

I groaned again. "I'm never getting married."

His eyes crinkled. "Pity," he said; then, "A toast – to the future Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley." He lifted his glass, and I clinked mine against his. "And to your own happiness, as well, Mister Potter," he said, before he drained his glass.

April approached with incredible haste. Three months was nowhere near long enough to plan a wedding, according to Mrs. Weasley, but it all got done. Severus and I returned our invitations separately. I was sitting at the table in the kitchen at the Burrow when I told Hermione and Ron that Severus would be my date. Hermione beamed in satisfaction, and looked over my shoulder as Ron pretended to protest, though he had already congratulating me on "pulling one over on Snape", as he put it.

Grinning, I turned to see who Hermione was looking at, to find Mr. Weasley standing in the doorway, a shocked look on his face. I felt the blood rush to my face. Mrs. Weasley appeared behind him, giving him a bit of a push. "Move on, Arthur! Why are you standing in the doorway?"

He looked down and back at her, and seemed to recover his awareness. "Oh. Sorry, Molly." He took a basket of tubers from her and brought them over to the table, but I could feel his eyes on me, and looked up at Hermione and Ron. Ron winced and mouthed, "Sorry, mate."

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Molly," he said, his voice a bit loud, as it usually was when he was nervous, "Harry was just telling Ron and Hermione who he's bringing to the wedding."

"That's nice, dear," she said absently. She brushed her hands off on her apron before turning to see the four of us frozen in position at the table. "Well? What is it, then? Who are you bringing, Harry, dear?"

Arthur looked at me, finally, and, probably because of whatever he saw on my face, which was terror, I think, he softened and smiled at me reassuringly. "He's invited Severus to be his escort, if I heard correctly, isn't that so, Harry?"

I gulped, nodded, and said, "Yeah. He… he said he'd come with me."

Much to my surprise, Molly simply nodded, caught Hermione's eye, and got a speculative look on her face. "Severus, hmm? A man could do worse." She looked at Hermione again and they both giggled. Ron caught my eye and rolled his eyes.

"Well," Hermione said, grabbing a tuber from the basket in front of her, and waving her wand to peel it, "he did win the Most Eligible Bachelor award… two years running!"

"And the award for the best smile!" Molly said. Hermione grinned at me, stifling a laugh, and I relaxed and grinned back.

"Harry, dear, we'll have to make sure you have appropriate attire for the wedding," Molly said. "After all, with Severus as your date…" She ignored my squeak. "…you'll want to look as sophisticated and posh as he no doubt will. Now, Madam Malkins is all fine and good for school robes and Ministry affairs, but for a wedding, we'll want to…" And she and Hermione were off, talking about robes and cravats and boots and fabric and…

And Ron and Mr. Weasley and I managed to make our escape, retreating to the back yard, where Mr. Weasley put up a warming charm, cleared the snow from the chairs set around their fire pit, and flicked a fire into being. Another flick of his wand and a bottle of fire whiskey and three glasses shot out the door and floated to him. He waved a glass to me and Ron, took the third for himself, and leaned to pour for each of us. He settled into one of the chairs, and stretched his feet out toward the fire to warm his boots.

"Ah!" he said, in appreciation of both the fire and the whiskey. He waved a hand. "Sit, boys."

We sat, exchanging perplexed glances. Several moments passed before Mr. Weasley spoke again. "I take it, from the fact that you invited Severus to accompany you to the wedding, that you are gay, Harry," he said, managing to make it sound like just a point of information.

I looked at Ron, slightly panicked, and he shrugged, then looked at his father with a frown. Somehow, I got the feeling that he was preparing to defend me, if necessary, and the realization strengthened me.

"Yes, sir," I said, as nonchalantly as I could.

Mr. Weasley nodded as if I had confirmed something he already knew. Which, of course, by then, he did. He sipped at his whiskey again, and I tried to do the same, hoping it would stop my trembling. Why had I not taken care of this before? I looked at Ron, but he was staring into his glass as if Ogden's would provide the answer to some question that had not yet been asked.

"You haven't dated before now. Within your own gender, I mean." It was not a question. Then again, he did work at the Ministry… and I knew they kept tabs on me, to some extent. And my life had never been private, really – not since Hagrid showed up at that house on the rocks the day I turned eleven.

I realized Mr. Weasley was waiting for some kind of response. "Oh. No. No, I haven't."

He nodded again and pursed his lips. "You are aware, I assume, that Severus is…" A more experienced man, too old for you, I expected him to say, or something like that. "…a man of deep feeling."

Ron's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, and I imagine mine did as well. Ron shook his head at me in bewilderment that matched my own.

"Yes," I said, stunned. "Of course."

Arthur nodded a third time, tossed off the rest of his whiskey, stood, and said, "Alright, then. I'll be off." He turned and strode to the back door to the Burrow, leaving me and Ron looking after him, mouths agape.

Ron turned to look at me. "Bloody hell!" he said, with feeling, and I snorted, and then chuckled, and in moments, Ron and I were laughing as hard as we had after Severus and my first dinner out together.

I suppose it might have bothered me that Mr. Weasley's concern had been for Severus, rather than for me, but it did not. Instead, it warmed me inside, and made me feel protective toward Severus, as well, knowing that Mr. Weasley thought he needed it, and besides, it meant that my being gay wasn't the issue – just the way I treated Severus. I kept finding myself smiling, as Ron and I talked about the wedding, and Quidditch, and work, and as our conversation turned repeatedly back to Hermione… and to Severus. Neither of us used the word "love". We finally went back inside when the warming spell his father had cast started to fade, waving the fire back to coals.


	11. Chapter 11

TW: Sexual assault, assault. It's a rough couple paragraphs, but nothing too graphic, I think.

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Eleven

I hummed a spell as I drew the glass for a basic stirring rod, working quickly, the familiar, repetitive tempo to the work easy to maintain. I intended to build a supply of student kits for Potions classes, before the late spring and early summer months, hoping to spend those on research and more advanced products. I had in mind a set of vials for a basic home healthcare kit, as well as some special vials for potentially poisonous potions, prompted by my discussions with Severus and some readings I had done in the Crystal Masters' Guild's monthly journal _Casting in Crystal._

The charm on the door alerted me to someone entering the shop, which I had dubbed _The Crystal Cave_, in tribute to Merlin, based on a Muggle book of that name that I had read about his life. I eyed the rod I was working on, estimating that it needed more time than I could give it, if I was to attend to my customer. Fortunately, it was simple glass, a first-level rod, and I could return to it later, with no impact on its effectiveness. I set it on the flame-proof mat on the table to the side of the burner, and removed my safety glasses, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was nearly time to quit for the day, so turned the burner off. As it was, I would have to hurry to shower and change in time to meet Severus.

Putting a smile on my face, I left the workroom and entered the front of the shop. A dark-haired man was bent over the vials closest to the front window – basic vials whose properties would not be affected by sitting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows each morning. They were set purposefully, throwing bright prisms of color onto the walls of the shop, attracting the attention of anyone who so much as glanced at the window, often drawing them inside. In the afternoons, the fireplace on the left threw off a different light, and the resulting colors were deeper, warmer, inviting.

The customer had a hand raised toward the vials, but was blocked by the basic ward I had set to protect against accidental damage and the wandering hands of children, who sometimes came in with their parents, and were unable to keep their fingers from wanting to play with the "pretty things" on my shelves.

"Afternoon," I said cheerfully, untying the strings of my leather apron, lifting it over my head, and tossing it onto the counter behind me.

The man straightened and turned around, and my stomach clenched. He strode over to me aggressively, his cold blue eyes sizing me up. I twitched my left arm, just to make sure my wand was up my sleeve, relaxing slightly when I felt its familiar shape.

"Mr. Daltry," I said. I did not extend my hand, remembering our encounter at the conference. "What can I do for you?"

"Heard you opened shop. Thinking to corner the crystal vial market, are you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, and widened my stance, unconsciously taking up Severus' posture from long-ago Potions classes, suddenly appreciating that it was both defensive and made offensive access to my wand easier. "Just making my own contribution. I'm hardly looking to corner a market that has been in existence for hundreds of years."

He stopped in front of me, bouncing slowly on his toes while he looked me up and down. "Heard you're a… what do they call it in Britain? Oh, yeah – a poof," he said.

I frowned. "Not that it's anyone's business, but what would that matter – if I were?"

"Don't buy from poofs."

"Then I fail to see why you bothered entering my shop."

He hummed tunelessly.

"Did you need something, or will you be on your way? I'm about to close up."

"Some wizards don't take kindly to poofs. Could…" He raised a hand and flicked a finger against the nearest crystal vial. It gave off a clear ring that my mind automatically noted and approved. "… ruin a man, to have that get out."

"I don't know what you're on about, but I think this discussion is over," I said. "I suggest you take your business elsewhere. Somewhere in America, for example." I was shaking, but whether with shock or anger, I wasn't certain. Both, probably.

He smirked, and turned away – to leave, I thought. But then he turned back and… I didn't see it coming. You'd think after all that happened in the war I would have seen it coming, but... His fist connected with my face before I could do more than draw my wand. I heard my nose break, felt blood gush down my face, but worse than that by far was the sound of falling crystal and glass, brushed back by my touch, which swept through the protective wards as if they were not there, as I struggled to regain my balance and put some distance between myself and my attacker. My glasses had fallen off, and things were blurry.

Several other things happened, in rapid order, too quickly for me to register. A second man entered the store, waved in by Daltry, who grabbed me from behind and pulled my arms back, elbow to elbow, making my shoulders burn. I kicked out, but the second man was too fast, and evaded my boots, landing a punch in my mid-section that was hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I wheezed and coughed, and I thought I tasted blood, but that could have been from my nose. I kicked again, and got another punch for my troubles. I desperately tried to wrench away from Daltry, felt my left shoulder pop out of joint, and nearly passed out from the pain.

The second man reached toward my face. All I could see was a black mass coming toward me. His gloved hand grabbed my jaw and squeezed, and again, I nearly blacked out, prevented from doing so only by sheer determination not to let them do something to me because I let myself go unconscious. Apparently my jaw was broken, too.

"Not good enough for you, am I?" the second man said, and I froze. Mario. I recognized his voice. I made some sound of protest, but couldn't move my jaw enough to speak. "Hold him," he directed at Daltry, who tightened his grip, yanking my elbows closer together behind my back.

I screamed wordlessly as my left shoulder separated more, and then choked when Mario slid a vial between my teeth. I pushed at it with my tongue, trying not to touch the lip of it, afraid I'd ingest whatever it was they were trying to dose me with, trying not to move more than necessary.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Mario chided roughly. "None of that!" He tightened his grip on my jaw, upended the vial in my mouth, and shoved my jaw shut. The pain of that made me gasp again, which caused me to inadvertently swallow the potion, or whatever it was. It burned on its way down. I tried desperately to make myself vomit, but Mario kept jerking at my jaw, knocking me off balance, both physically and mentally, and nearly making me pass out. My shoulder screamed with pain, and I could feel muscles tearing.

I tried to fight off the effect of the potion, but it was hard to do that when I didn't know what the potion was supposed to do, and when I couldn't concentrate, and gradually, I felt myself succumb to its effects, slumping in Richard's grip, despite the strain on my shoulder, my muscles as limp and unprotesting as my mind. When Mario took out his wand and pointed it in my direction, I felt curiosity rather than fear, and my only reaction when he bit out an impatient "_Episkey_!" followed by "_Evanesco_!" was only a grunt as my broken jaw reset and the blood vanished from my face.

Mario said something in a disgusted voice, but my disinterested, disconnected mind neither followed nor cared. I vaguely catalogued the symptoms and the bitter, burning taste of the potion, and some part of my mind labeled it _Liquid Imperio_, and was alarmed. It was only when he said, "Kiss me," that the potion took full effect, triggered by a direct order.

My body started to move to obey, despite the sharp protest in my mind. _I can fight off an Imperio_, I thought. _Come on, Potter - fight it off! _ Richard laughed and let go of my arms, moving out from behind me. Mario shoved me up against the counter, and moved into me, one hand, bare now – I must have missed him removing his gloves – threading into my hair, grabbing at it and twisting, yanking my head up to meet his. The sounds of tinkling glass accompanied the taste of Mario's lips and the tongue he forced past my teeth, clenched as I fought off the effects of the potion. He had not mended my broken nose or whatever was wrong with my shoulder, and pain lanced through me, making me cry out, which only made him laugh in satisfaction, as my teeth unclenched.

"_Ma chère_," he drawled in a mocking, harsh voice, pulling away slightly. "Harry Potter… vanquisher of the Dark Lord. I will have you." He slid his hand down my shirt, grabbing at my chest, digging his fingers in and twisting painfully. The pain was good – it helped clear my mind, despite the potion flowing through my veins. He yanked my shirt out of my pants and jammed his leg against my groin. He was hard, and ground himself against me, and I knew exactly how he intended to "have me". He grabbed my crotch and squeezed, saying, "You will come for me, _Ma chère_. You will beg me to take you."

His phrasing freed me from immediate compliance, and the pain separated my mind from my body. My wand was still up my sleeve, though it had shifted around to the back of my arm. I thought a spell, praying that my nonverbal skills and my desperation would be enough, and my wand shifted until it pressed against my hand, dangling limply at my side. His hand moved to my belt, yanking it open and shoving my trousers down around my knees.

_Left hand_, I noted, thinking past what he was doing.

_No matter. You can do this. _I heard that in Snape's voice, as if I were standing in some DADA tutorial that had never happened, the demanding Snape of my past blending with the encouraging Severus of my present.

_Left hand, can't raise my arm… non-verbal… what spell?_

_You're overthinking this, Potter. Stop thinking and ACT! _The Severus in my mind raised his wand…

On the last word, the knock-back spell I had used on Severus - _Everte Statum!_ – burst from my mind – and my wand, thank Merlin, despite that it merely nudged my left hand. Breaking glass, tumbling crystal, and thuds of shelves collapsing did nothing to quell my panic. Trembling in the effort to fight the potion, I grabbed my useless left arm, withdrew my wand, held it in my right hand, and thrust it shakily at each man in turn. "_Stupefy! Expelliarmus!_" I didn't bother to try to catch the wands, merely flicking my arm to send them over the counter toward the studio.

I pulled at my trousers and pinned them to my waist with my elbow as I stumbled toward the fireplace, pain at each step keeping me from sliding back into potion-induced lethargy. I grabbed at the small container of floo powder I kept on the mantle as a courtesy to customers. It took me two tries to fumble the lid off, one-handed, and I dropped the box. I bent to grab a handful of the green powder, not bothering to shift my wand to my other hand, trying not to take my eyes off the two men. I backed into the fireplace, dropping the powder, rather than tossing it, but managing to hold onto my wand, and hoped desperately that tossing was not required for it to work.

"Snape's lair," I gasped. I shut my eyes and prayed. _Merlin, Snape – let me in!_

I landed as I usually did after floo travel – stumbling from the floo at the other end and falling to my knees, catching myself on my right hand, my left arm swinging forward loosely, tearing at muscles and ligaments. I screamed, retched, and vomited. _Better out than in_, I heard, in Hagrid's voice.

Boot heels beat a rapid tattoo on the flagstones underneath me. I couldn't even look up. There was nothing I could do to defend myself.

"What the… Harry? What happened?"

"Severus…"

"_What happened?_" he demanded. There was something calming about the panic in his voice.

Severus grabbed at my left arm and spun me to face him. I screamed again, and felt myself start to pass out, but raised my right hand to grab at him. He had let go of my arm, and eased me to the floor with a cushioning charm. His face was pale. He flicked his wand – when had he pulled his wand? – at the fireplace, muttering a tracing spell that simultaneously sealed the floo and created a kind of stasis that would let him backtrack my journey, then turned back to me.

"Where are you injured?" he demanded, beginning to run his hands over my chest and neck. I flinched and raised an ineffectual hand to knock him away.

"Liquid… Imperius," I managed.

"Who?" he demanded.

"Mario… Daltry…"

"Mario Daltry? Who…? You mean both…?" He growled, shifted, and raised his wand again. "_Expecto Patronum!_" My vision was greying at the edges, but I could have sworn his patronus, the silvery doe that I had always assumed was a representation of my mother, snuffled at my neck, while Severus told it, "Go to Kingsley. Tell him..."

I drifted in and out of consciousness, called to awareness by a voice saying, "Come on, Harry, wake up," struggling to obey, still under the influence of the potion, but repeatedly passing out due to pain. Finally, I drifted awake, recognizing Hermione's soft, concerned voice, alternating with Severus' deeper tones, forcibly patient, I recognized. Hermione's voice went shrill for a moment, only to be shushed by Severus' insistence that she, "Keep it down, Miss Granger." Both voices lulled me to sleep, letting me abandon awareness from a sense of safety, rather than pain.

I woke again to find McGonagall and Pomfrey bending over me, and for a moment, wondered if I had dreamed the last five and a half years or more… if Voldemort was still alive, and I still a student at Hogwarts, but the room I was in was not the infirmary. Severus' voice came from somewhere to my left, and I shifted in that direction, then moaned at renewed pain.

"Harry. Don't move." Severus was at my side, a hand hovering over my shoulder as if he were hesitant to touch me. I froze.

"Sever…" I could barely speak through the pain.

"Hush. I'm here."

"The shop…"

"It's alright, Harry. Don't worry about that now." Thoughts of the shop faded from my mind. Severus leaned over to make eye contact with me, but I looked toward my toes, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Are they…" I gulped and was horrified to find tears welling in my eyes.

"They are in custody." His voice turned hard. "They will never hurt you again, I promise." I shivered at the threat in his voice. I was sure they would never hurt _anyone _again. I would have wondered if he had left them alive, if he hadn't said they were "in custody".

"Drink this," he said, and I realized he was holding a potion vial to my mouth, which opened without my conscious volition. "Swallow," he said, and my throat convulsed, again without conscious intent.

"Imperius," I protested.

"I know. I'm sorry, but there's no help for it. This is the antidote, but it will take a while to work its way through your system, I'm afraid. Would you rather have had the antidote first, or pain potion?"

"Antidote," I answered.

His lips twitched. "I thought you might. It will be about a half hour before I can give you anything else, or the antidote will not be effective. Will you be alright?"

"Yes," I ground out, wincing in contradiction.

"Sleep, Harry," he said, and my eyes closed as I drifted off, obedient to his command.

I startled awake to his touch on my right shoulder, a whimper of pain and protest as I tried to move, but found myself restrained. "Pain potion," he said, holding a vial to my lips. I swallowed dutifully, wondering if I was still under the effects of the Liquid Imperius. "I placed an _Imobilus _on you to keep you from further injuring yourself. Poppy cannot heal you until you are able to stay awake. This will get you through the worst of it."

I avoided his eyes as he talked.

"Harry… look at me."

My eyes went to his face, but I kept them on his lips. Well – that answers that question.

"Look in my eyes, Harry," he said.

I did so, resenting that he was using the _Imperio _potion against me, allowing anger to replace… whatever else it was I was feeling, my stomach sinking, thinking he planned to Legilimize me.

"Don't," I said. "Please don't." My stomach clenched, and I was sure I would vomit up the potion he had just given me.

He bent closer to me. "I will not enter your mind without your consent," he whispered, and I felt the reassuring weight of his hand on my head, and nearly wept in relief. "Poppy is going to work on your shoulder," he continued quietly. "It will hurt, despite the pain potion. I wish I could do more, but we cannot chance it. You have abdominal injuries. She will take care of those first, but you will not be able to withstand a stronger potion." He hesitated and I saw his face go blank and still, as it had not in years – not since his need to dissemble before the Dark Lord – or me. His eyes were the only thing that showed emotion, and they were bleak. "Were you… Did they violate you?" he asked tonelessly.

I gasped and tears rolled down the sides of my face into my ears. His face paled. "No!" I choked out. "No. They didn't… they didn't rape me." They just intended to.

"I will… I'm sorry, Harry, but the Wizengemot… will wish to verify that… Would you… prefer that someone else… They will use a combination of Veritaserum and Legilimancy. I'm sure someone else…"

"No! No. Why do they need to Legilimize me?" I struggled to sit up, but the _Imobilus _held me down.

"Not you – your attackers," he clarified. "Lie still," he commanded. The Liquid Imperius had not completely lost effect, but I could fight it, and did. "Harry – stop struggling. It will worsen your injuries. Please," he said, and the final word caused me to sink back into the bed and give it up, not even noticing that I'd been able to resist.

"Why?" I asked. He did not ask for clarification.

"They will want to know the whole of the attack. A physical attack complicated by an intent to… do other harm… carries more severe penalties.

I blinked my understanding, and tears that, as I was immobilized, I could do nothing to wipe away, continued to leak down the sides of my face. He cleared them from my face, efficiently and without a word.

"How is he doing, Severus?" Poppy's voice came from the foot of the bed, and Severus impatiently motioned her closer.

"He can't see you, all the way over there. He's awake. I've given him the pain potion. The other should be just about out of his system. It's safe enough."

"What…? What are you going to do to me?" I asked.

"First, we are going to scan you again, to assess your injuries," Poppy said, as businesslike as ever. "Then, with Severus' help, we will set you to rights. Now, hold still, dear. Severus, if you would…"

"_Finite Incantatum,_" he said, waving his wand over me, and my body sank a bit more into the bed. I wiggled my toes in relief, but his hand on my knees kept me from drawing them up. He stood, and I realized he had been sitting on the bed next to me. I reached for him as he withdrew, but he patted my hand down against the blanket. "Lie still and let Poppy scan you. I'll be right here."

I wondered how many times I had been through this. At least once a year, when I was a student, and then immediately following the Battle… and as a health check before I started my training – though I hardly counted that assessment… and once when I'd inhaled some fumes, before I learned to work safely… More than my share, in any case. By the time I was done counting, Poppy was handing Severus a list of symptoms that had appeared on a parchment floating over me.

"Well?" I asked at an attempt at humor. "What's the damage this time?" I couldn't see Severus' face with the parchment between us. He turned away, and took a step toward a table on which several potions were standing, and rearranged them without speaking for several moments. Then he turned back to me, his face carefully composed.

"Spleen, liver, diaphragm… And your nose," he said, his hand twitching in the direction of my face. He took a breath. "Your arm, of course. No broken ribs."

"Here, let's start with the easiest," Poppy said, nudging Severus out of the way with her hip. She aimed her wand between my eyes and said, "_Episkey_!"

There was a crunch and a sharp, familiar pain in my nose. "Ow! Oh – that's better!" I raised my right hand to feel the familiar shape and size, then turned to Severus. "So, why's yours crooked, then?"

His lips twitched in a smirk, and amusement replaced the bleakness in his eyes. "Brat! It's not broken – it's Patrician!"

"Is that what you call it?" I asked, trying not to wince as Poppy continued to murmur spells and wave her wand, doing strange things to my insides. "Well," I ground out at a particularly painful twist of my innards, "whatever you call it, I like it. Makes you look handsome… distinguished."

His smile widened and he shook his head. "I may have given you too much pain potion." He raised his eyes to Poppy, and I turned my head to see a fond smile on her face that I somehow knew was meant for him, despite the fact that she was concentrating on her wand, now moving over to my left side.

"Help me with this, Severus," she said. "Now, Mister Potter, brace yourself. This will hurt…" Severus put one hand on my right shoulder, and another on my chest, and I relaxed into the warmth of that. Then Poppy twisted my useless arm athwart my left shoulder, and I passed out.


	12. Chapter 12

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Twelve

I dreaded returning to The Crystal Cave. It wasn't that I was afraid. While I was recovering – at Snape's home, I realized, once I was coherent again – Mario and Daltry had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to Azkaban, all without the need for me to even testify, as _Veritaserum_ and Legilimancy provided sufficient evidence against them, though Poppy and Severus testified to my injuries, and the Aurors Kingsley had led to the Cave upon receiving Severus' Patronus testified as to the physical damage in the shop.

I simply dreaded facing the damage – months of work in glass and crystal shattered, and even those that survived intact likely contaminated, unwarded in that negative atmosphere for so long. However, on the third day after the attack, Severus silently handed me clothing he had brought from Grimmauld Place, then headed to his kitchen.

I joined him twenty minutes later, having taken my time getting ready, reluctant to leave. I trailed a hand down the banister heading down the stairs to his sitting room, and followed my instincts to find him sitting at the table, two places set with breakfast. He looked me up and down as he flicked a serviette open and spread it on his lap.

"You look none the worse for your adventure," he commented.

I snorted. "Adventure?"

He ignored that. "Tea?" He raised the kettle in inquiry, and I nodded, taking a seat. Breakfast looked and smelled delicious. I took a fork to the scrambled eggs, and let out a moan of pleasure when they nearly melted on my tongue.

"Oh, my god! Delicious!" I said, attacking the rest of my breakfast. Severus graciously did not comment on the fact that I had talked with my mouth full. I forbore to state the obvious, knowing he would make the inevitable comparison between cooking and brewing potions, but the smirk on his face said it anyway. There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes as we ate, and then, as I slowed down, he said, "I'll accompany you back home."

"No. I need to get to the shop," I said, my stomach gone cold.

He nodded as if he expected that. "All the same, I'm coming with." His tone brooked no disagreement, and I smiled wry assent.

"All right," I agreed. "Thanks. For this…" I waved around.

"Breakfast is easy," he said, deliberately mistaking my meaning. I threw a bun at him, and he caught it, tore a piece, and used it to sop up egg yolk from his own fried eggs.

I watched him a moment or two, and he looked up.

"What?"

"Your floo let me in."

He returned to chasing egg around his plate, then rose and took his dishes to the sink. His back to me, he said, "Just returning the courtesy."

I grinned at his back, somehow taking more from that than it likely merited, I thought.

"Are you about done?"

I drained my cup of tea, and took my dishes to him. He washed them by hand, rinsed them, and placed them on a drying rack, laughing lightly at my quizzical look. "Not everything requires magic," he said, and there was a strange gleam in his eye. "Gather your things. We'll return by floo."

My stomach clenched, and I wished I had held off on breakfast, but I climbed the stairs, careful of my left arm, which was still sore at the shoulder. I glanced into rooms in the upstairs hallway as I passed them. None of them was as large or as completely appointed as the room I had been in, and I suddenly realized I had been sleeping in Severus' bed. My cock gave an interested twitch at the thought, accompanied by a bit of panic that immediately deflated the little bit of tightness, both of which threatened my composure. I reached his room and took hold of the door handle, leaning on it a bit to steady myself, took a deep breath, and entered.

I had few things there. My clothes had been washed and lay folded at the foot of the bed, but I did not even want to look at them. I waved my wand and banished them. Looking around, I saw only the latest issue of Casting in Crystal, shrank it, and tucked it in my pocket. I turned completely around, taking in all of the room, its warm masculinity and familiar scents soothing me as if Severus stood protectively at my back. I shook my head at the thought, and headed down the stairs again.

We stood in front of the fireplace together, but when I reached for the floo powder, Severus stopped me. "One moment." He drew his wand and raised an eyebrow at my frown. "Expecto Patronum," he said, his lips twitching in humor, and when his Patronus appeared and would have turned toward me again, he called it wordlessly, and it turned to nuzzle his hand, instead. "We're coming. Open the floo," he said, and the doe bounded off.

We waited two minutes, perhaps three, for an answer, and when it came, it was Ron's Jack Russell terrier. It opened its mouth, and Ron's voice said, "Come on, then."

I looked up at Severus, wanting an explanation, but he took my arm and directed me to the fireplace. "Hold your left arm tight to your side," he said, and took up a position to my right, his left arm crossing my back to lightly grip my shoulder. The tip of his ebony wand pressed into his right palm, I had time to notice, before he dropped floo powder and said, "The Crystal Cave."

He kept me from falling, when we stepped out at the other end, which was good, as the safety bar I had installed – despite Ron's snickering – was on the left, and I likely would have hurt myself grabbing for it. I had expected to have to face the ruins of my inventory, expected to spend the day sweeping up, repairing shelves, and counting my losses. But the shop was clean, bright, and tidy… and filled with people. Severus' hand pressed against the small of my back, urging me forward.

"Harry!" Hermione flew at me and threw her arms around me. I winced, and she drew back. "Oh, my gosh, I'm sorry – but, oh, you look great!"

"Hey, mate!" Ron went to pat my shoulder, but pulled his hand back at Severus' frown.

"Harry!"

Suddenly, I was surrounded – by Weasleys mainly. Arthur, George, Molly, Ginny – even Charlie, somehow. "What are you doing here?" I asked when he came up to shake my hand.

"Just by coincidence, I was home on leave when this happened." He waved around.

I laughed. "It doesn't look like anything happened. I… I don't know what to say. Thanks. Everyone."

I was grateful, but… My inventory required specialized handling, and despite how the shop looked, I knew that the wares that were displayed on the now less-crowded shelves would likely serve no better purpose than perhaps holding perfume. They'd be contaminated, and useless as potions vials. I smiled anyway, hiding my dismay.

"Mister Potter," someone said, and I turned to my right, to see Geoff Crittenden standing next to Severus. I shook my head in confusion.

"Mr. Crittenden? What…?"

He came forward and shook my hand. "When Severus told us what happened, we had to come help. Fortunately, I needed to come to London, anyway, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone, as they say." He waved a hand and laughed. "I always hated that metaphor. In any case…"

"Hey, Geoff, what should I… Harry! Hey, guys – Harry's back!" I was stunned to see Tom, Bill and Charlie, from Paris, emerge from my workshop.

Severus bent to murmur in my ear, "I took the liberty of calling Geoff for advice, and he – and the dynamic trio – decided they had better rescue your shop from the likes of me. I apologize in advance for their excessive… enthusiasm." He glared at the three, and they approached more cautiously, keeping Geoff between them and Severus.

I grinned at them, and then turned to Mr. Crittenden. "I thought my vials…"

"I couldn't bear to let that happen, Mister Potter!" he said. "While I am not certain that everything is as you would like it, I was able to determine, in general, how things _should_ be. Ingenious warding you had set up. And I wonder if you could explain to me…" He pulled me off to one side, careful of my arm, but I glanced back at Severus, who was looking far too pleased with himself, as Hermione asked his opinion about something or another. He waved Bill and Charlie – not Weasley – back to the studio, and tugged Tom's arm to get his attention, pulling him along to help deal with whatever Hermione had asked about.

Hours later, after a late lunch provided by Mrs. Weasley, Kreacher, and Winky, the dozen of us sat around an expanded workbench, finishing off our drinks and eating chocolate-covered biscuits. "We should see to the warding, now we've eaten," Severus said, directing his comment to Mr. Weasley.

I shook my head. "Shelves are all warded now, Severus."

He looked at me with something like his old disdain, and I almost grinned at him. "Protective wards – around the shop, and the building," he said.

I frowned. "How do you ward the shop and still let customers… oh!"

Severus shook his head in apparent disgust at my ignorance, but he was smiling. It was Hermione who answered, though, of course.

"Harry! Honestly! Did you even pay attention to what we were doing when we warded our camps?"

"Er…"

Ron snickered, and if he had not been sitting on my left, I would have elbowed him.

"Take _Cave Inimicum_, for example," Hermione went on. "Do you have any idea what that spell actually does?"

"Uh… it keeps enemies away?"

"Exactly, Harry, and it warns you of malevolent intent! It's a really ingenious spell! It was developed by –"

"Hermione!" Ron said, just as Severus said, "Miss Granger!" and she halted, her face pink. "Another time, perhaps. You should apply to McGonagall to teach charms once Flitwick announces his retirement," he added, and the pink in her face deepened.

"Do you think so?" she asked, hope and caution in her manner.

"I have never met a person so filled with passion and possessing such a deep knowledge of spells. I believe you would make an excellent charms professor – and probably inspire that passion in all kinds of little demons – heaven help us!" he added, and the rest of us laughed.

"In any event," Severus said, rising from the table, "if you all would join us…" He nodded to indicate Geoff, Mr. Weasley, Charlie, and myself. "… your contributions would be appreciated, I am sure." He turned to me and gave a slight bow. "With your consent, of course, Crystal Master."

"Sure! Yeah! Whatever you think best, Severus. Um…" I turned to the rest of the group. "If… if you would join us in setting the wards, I'd really appreciate it." Especially since I did not know what I was doing.

Ward-setting is a beautiful thing to observe, and truly awe-inspiring to experience, when done as a cooperative effort. A dozen wands raised in synchrony, a common intent to protect and defend, the energies of a dozen witches and wizards, woven together in intricate harmony… It was tangible, tasted of sweetness and chocolate and cinnamon and tea, warmed us and stood our hair on end, surrounding us with halos of light and energy, sending my blood racing. Severus stood next to me as he and Arthur, on my other side, led us in casting the spells. Geoff stood next to him, followed by Tom, Bill, Charlie, Charlie, Ron, Hermione… and the rest, each of us with one hand on the shoulder of the person to our left, wands in our right hands. I could feel each person's touch in the wall of protection they built around my workplace.

We cast first in the studio, then in the shop, then, at Severus' insistence and Mr. Weasley's urging, outside the shop as well, first the back, ending with the front. People in the street stopped to watch, mouths agape. Shopkeepers up and down Diagon Alley stood in their doorways, watching, more than one nodding approval or raising a wandless hand as if to add their energy to the mix. It was like a community blessing, and by the time we were done, I had tears in my eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered, when I had myself under control, and each one came up to hug me, or shake my hand, or pat my back, and more than one whispered a blessing into my ear, Mrs. Weasley last, hugging me as if conveying all the love of all the Weasleys. It was powerful magic… and left me feeling simultaneously drained and elated, and very, very safe.

Geoff was the last to leave – other than Severus. "I hope you won't mind if I come back tomorrow," he said. "I would like to discuss the set-up in your studio, and…" He paused as if embarrassed. "… commission a set of stirring rods… for my nephew. I could do it, but frankly…" He gestured around. "…your work is exquisite, and he is more likely to value another's work over that of his old uncle." He laughed at that, and Severus said, "One is never a prophet in one's own land."

"Of course, Master Crittenden. You are welcome, any time. I'd love your input," I said.

He held out his hand. "It's Geoff, if you don't mind, young man."

"Geoff," I said, and watched, somewhat star-struck, to tell the truth, as Severus escorted him to the floo.

Severus turned back toward me, a warm glow in his eyes. "You'll want to be getting home… get some rest," he said, still holding the box of floo powder.

"Yeah. I should do that," I said, reluctant for him to go. "Could you… would you… would you join me for dinner? I don't mean going out – I'm too tired for that. But Kreacher could…"

He smiled and nodded. "Of course." There was something on his face that led me to believe he was relieved, as if he had wanted to escort me home, make sure I was alright. It did something strange to me – some combination of amusement, chagrin, frustration, gratitude, and longing that, mixed in with the afterglow of the ward-setting, made me want to just wrap my arms around him and never let go.

Severus.

I settled for his arm across my shoulders as he waved a wand to lock the shop, and we jointly floo'd to Grimmauld Place.

We ate, Kreacher persuaded by Severus to feed us something not too heavy, in deference to my still-recovering insides and the lateness of the hour. Despite my intentions, by the time we had consumed our meal, I felt drained and lethargic, barely registering Severus by my side until he stood next to me and spoke.

"Come, Potter," he said, holding out a hand.

"Potter?" I protested.

He snorted. "Come – Harry. Let's get you upstairs."

"I can get upstairs by myself!" I protested, but I lacked the energy to even stand by then.

"Kreacher!" Severus called, and he appeared with a crack.

"Is the master bedroom ready?"

"Master Harry's room is always ready, with fresh linens and a warm fire," Kreacher said.

"Lead me," Severus said with an approving nod, and, ignoring my squawk of protest, flicked his wand, murmuring a feather-light spell, and picked me up. I struggled against it in token protest, but the truth is, the moment he held me against him, I wanted to be nowhere else in the world, and I curled one arm around his neck, and clutched at his robes with the other, as he carried me up two flights of stairs, following Kreacher. He could have used a _Mobilicorpus_, I realized, halfway to my room, and, sighing happily, I buried my head against his shoulder and just… inhaled his scent, hoping he would put it all down to the residual effects of my injuries, the potions I had taken over the last three days, and exhaustion from the warding.

I do not recall the end of that journey. I must have fallen asleep in his arms. For the first time.

Kreacher woke me with breakfast in bed, the next morning, along with the day's Daily Prophet, which carried pictures of a dozen witches and wizards, wands raised, the sign for The Crystal Cave clearly visible overhead, and a story about the attack and the warding. I ticked off the Weasleys, Geoff, Tom and the others, identifying them all easily, despite the photo being taken from behind us. Severus, of course, stood out, tall, slender, graceful as he moved his wand through the complex movements he, Arthur, and Geoff taught the rest of us before we began the warding. I found it hard to tear my eyes from watching him. Other merchants had been interviewed for the article, and they each expressed concern about the safety of Diagon Alley, and best wishes for the shop's recovery. There was no mention of my injuries – only of the damage to the shop, and I was grateful that I had recovered at Severus' place, so that no one would think me injured and thus an easy target.

I read, ate, and stretched, then showered and dressed, my mind on work, wondering what the impact of the article on my business would be. I floo'd to the shop an hour before I was due to open, carefully guarding my shoulder as I exited the fireplace – without falling, thankfully – looking forward, though with some trepidation, to double-checking my studio and the list of unfinished projects. The shower and getting dressed had adequately demonstrated that I was not ready to work crystal and glass yet. The risk of error caused by weak or uncertain muscles was too great.

Paperwork, then. I sighed. Well… even that was part of the business. Maybe I could hire an assistant as Severus suggested… I snorted. I'd have to generate consistent sales before I could do that, and make up for the lost inventory. It would be a long time before I could afford that. I put that plan to the side, levitated my records out to the front counter, pulled up a stool, and grabbed a fresh quill. I uncorked a bottle of green ink, smiling as always, as it reminded me of McGonagall.

Some time later, there was a tap at the door, and I looked up to see a short, very plump witch waving at me through the window. I glanced at the clock, but it was still twenty minutes to the hour. She smiled and waved again, motioning me over. Letting my wand drop into my palm, and hoping the wards were actually working, I left the counter and strode to the door. I flicked a knock-back spell into partial existence, just leaving the final motion undone, and opened the door, plastering a welcome on my face.

"Oh, thank you! This is warm!" the witch said, bustling past me when I stepped back to allow her admittance. She was carrying a pan of something covered in foil, which she set down perilously close to my paperwork. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious, and I followed her almost involuntarily. "Apple-cranberry tarts," she said, turning to me with a smile and removing oven mitts from her hands. "Fresh-baked. You'll want to let them cool before you eat them."

"I'm sorry, but… who are you?" I asked, though my nose was urging me toward the baked goods.

She laughed. "Oh, heavens! I'm sorry! I haven't introduced myself," she said, holding out a hand. "Maggie Edgecomb. Yes, yes, I know!" she said, when I checked myself, halfway to accepting her hand. "Marietta's my niece." She shook her head. "Not a terribly clever, nor a terribly thoughtful, young witch! I don't know how she sorted into Ravenclaw. Can't say I approve of what was done to her, but there is no doubt she deserved it!" She snorted and patted me on the arm. "And you, of course, young man, are Harry Potter. Shame what they did to your shop. Saw it in the early edition of the Prophet. Thought you could use a pick-me-up, so I brought something over. I own the bakery just down the Alley, on the other side. I didn't know what you like, but everyone likes apple, I figure, so… Oh, listen to me going on! How are you, young man?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. She reminded me of Molly, Minerva, Hagrid, and Poppy, all rolled up into one person, and I felt instinctively safe with her. I surreptitiously pushed my wand back up my sleeve with one finger. "I'm fine… er… Mrs. Edgecomb?"

"Call me Maggie. Everyone does," she said.

"Maggie," I said, nodding. She pulled the foil back to reveal the source of the incredible aroma. "Thank you so much! These smell delicious! Would you care to join me in some tea, then?"

"Oh, Merlin, no, dear! I would love to, but breakfast is a busy time for the bakery. I just wanted to grab a moment to come over and tell you we'll all be watching out for you. Godric knows, the Alley is usually safe enough, but… I suppose with you being a war hero, and all…"

"Um…"

"It's alright, dear! Don't you worry. Well, I'd better be getting along now. You just send that platter on over with that house elf I saw around here the last few days, once you're done. No rush. I must be off."

With that, she whirled around, stepping nimbly between my shelves despite her girth, and was out the door before I could gather my breath to say anything more. She stopped just a moment, went up on the tips of her toes, and touched the top of the doorway on the outside. I thought she must have been brushing off something, her touch was so swift.

I went to lock the door again, but before I even reached it, Vincent Fortescue, Florian's nephew, who had taken over the ice cream parlor, appeared, waving cheerfully through the window. How someone who sold ice cream for a living could remain stick thin was a constant mystery to his customers. I grinned and opened the door.

"Harry! Just wanted to stop by and say hello, make sure you're alright," he said, shaking my hand vigorously. "Saw Maggie leaving…" He sniffed. "Mmm…"

I laughed, took the hint, and invited him in for tea, which he accepted, saying, "Too early for ice cream, anyway. Spot of tea and baked goods is just the ticket!" He looked around the shop while I fetched the kettle from the back and warmed it. "Say, I like this one," he said, pointing to an amethyst vial. "Good for standard healing potions?"

"Sure," I said. "Most anything, really. Bit pricey for that, though. What about this one?" I showed him a few choices, but he insisted on the amethyst.

"It's for my aunt," he said. "It'll remind her of my uncle – his favorite robes were just this color. I'd fill it for her, but the potions at St. Mungo's are dreadful."

"Severus makes better brews. Maybe you should ask him."

Vincent brightened. "Hey – I'll do that! You seeing him soon? I know you two are mates."

I smiled and poured our tea. "Yeah. I see him pretty regularly."

"Aha!" he said, pointing his spoon in my direction. "I knew it! You're dating him, aren't you?"

"What? No! What gave you that idea?"

"He's been photographed with you more than anyone else these last months." He leaned in as if confiding a secret. "Odds are running seven to one you two end up together."

"What?!" I laughed, and heat rushed to my face. I can't say I was unhappy about the odds - just surprised… but I should have known that would happen, given Severus' celebrity.

Vincent smugly turned toward his tea. "I've got seven galleons on you," he said teasingly. I choked on a bit of apple-cranberry tart.

If I thought I was going to get anything productive done that day, the denizens of Diagon Alley quickly disabused me of that notion. I don't think I had five minutes to myself, between them and the occasional customer. Barely would I sit down behind my records and the door would open, and yet another merchant would walk in, wanting to commiserate, or offer assistance, or bring me a token of some sort. As each one left, they stopped to touch the lintel of the doorway, so quickly that at first I thought I was imagining it, but so consistently that I came to expect it, watch for it.

When Severus showed up, I cocked my head at him. "It's not Thursday," I said.

"Astute observation," he smirked. "But it is closing time."

"I'd noticed. What are you doing here?" I got up to wave the sign in the window to "closed".

Severus waved his wand alongside me. "_Calloportus_," he said. He repeated the gesture at the back door, through which I sometimes received deliveries, then waved his wand in a circle to check the warding. He narrowed his eyes, checked the wards again, and a small smile appeared on his face. Nodding in satisfaction, he tucked his wand back up his sleeve and took my elbow, directing me toward the floo. "I'm escorting you home."

"So I see," I said dryly. "Why?"

He paused and frowned, but did not look at me. Nor did he answer. "I assume you have tea," he said instead.

I raised my eyebrows at him, but for naught, since he wasn't looking at me. "Of course," I conceded.

"Fine, then," he said, and tossed floo powder into the fireplace, pushed me in ahead of him, and said, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place".

I stumbled out at the other end, and moved quickly away. He followed a moment later, stepping out gracefully, as always – Irritating man! He flipped off his travel robe and laid it over a chair near the fireplace. His eyes never left me as I walked toward the staircase and tossed my own robe to the set of hooks by the front entrance. I had the impression he was assessing my health, and turned to glare at him.

"I'm fine," I said.

He humphed, and turned toward the kitchen without waiting for an invitation. I copied him – in word and deed, and couldn't help but watch his hips as he entered the kitchen ahead of me.

_Odds are running seven to one you two end up together._

I stifled a groan and called for Kreacher.

We talked over dinner about my depleted stock and what I needed to do to efficiently build up enough inventory that I could pay rent on the space without dipping into my personal funds. It wasn't that I couldn't afford it – I just felt, and Severus agreed, that the shop should pay for itself.

"It seems like every merchant in Diagon Alley came by today," I told him.

"Even Ollivander?"

"Yeah. And… every one of them did something strange as they left."

His eyes gleamed over his cup of tea. "Did they?"

"Prat! Why don't you just tell me, then?"

"Touched your lintel?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He smiled in satisfaction, and nodded as if confirming something to himself. "It has been rumored that the shops in Diagon Alley are warded by common consent, ever since... the second war… and that the wards are linked, so that a threat to one shop is communicated to all the rest. Although I do not know for certain, I suspect they were adding their personal commitment to the ward." His smile increased slightly as he looked at me. "It means they have accepted your presence in the Alley, and personally pledged their protection. You might notice that there is no thievery from the shops, despite the display of wares on the street."

I hadn't. I hadn't even thought about it before, but I did not say so.

"The shops are united in their protection. And in coming by, they have added their protection to the wards we set up. Congratulations, Mister Potter. You've been officially welcomed by the merchants of Diagon Alley." He raised his teacup in salute.

I laughed and touched my cup to his, and my chest filled with a mixture of pride, happiness, and relief.

He followed me into my workshop after we ate, and took up his stool the other side of the broad table that ran down the middle of the shop, taking notes while I systematically reviewed supplies and the inventory I needed to replace, as well as my research and crafting plans, asking pointed questions. By the time we were done, I had a prioritized list of tasks that helped me feel organized rather than overwhelmed. I was extremely grateful, and told him so. He got that indescribable look in his eyes again, but said, "Well… I must be off. I'll stop in tomorrow, if you don't mind. I would like to add a couple of commissions to that list. No urgency, but if you would be so kind…"

"Of course," I nodded, pleased all over again that he thought so much of my work.

He stopped just short of the fireplace. "Be sure to finish your potions, so that shoulder heals completely." He fastened his travel robe at his throat and took a handful of floo powder. "As you probably figured out by now, my floo is spelled to admit you. Do not hesitate to use it. The only other persons keyed to be let in are Minnie and Kingsley." His voice took on a more insistent note. "You'll be safe there, Harry. My wards are impregnable – or as good as. If you enter when I am not there, I'll be notified… and I'll come. Do not hesitate. Do you understand?"

My throat had closed up, so I just nodded. His eyes softened. "Even just to visit," he said. "My floo is open to you at any time." I nodded again, and he stepped into the fireplace, tossed the powder, and said, "Snape's Lair," holding my eye until he was whirled away home.


	13. Chapter 13

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Thirteen

So busy had I been on my first day back at The Crystal Cave that I barely remembered that Geoff Crittendon had promised to stop by until he showed up the following morning with croissants and apologies, the second of which I waved off in embarrassment. He explained that he'd been caught up in the professional repercussions of the attack, given the events that led to the attack had begun at the conference. He waved off the apologies I started to voice, for having caused him trouble. "Clearly not your apologies to make, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," I said.

"Harry," he said, his eyes crinkling in a smile. "Of course."

After tea and croissants, over which he commented about small things as his eyes took in the contents of the shelves on which glinted the wares he and the others had salvaged from… from the other day. When we were done with our tea and I had seen to a customer who had come in just as we finished, he pushed back from the counter and said, "I caught a bit of your workshop setup when we were here the other day. Surely all this," and he waved a hand to indicate the entire shop, "didn't come from the workshop behind that door there."

I laughed. "No, sir. I have a larger shop at home, actually, where I do the work that requires the most focus. I'm concerned about being interrupted here."

He nodded his understanding. "I'd like to see it someday, if you're willing."

My knee jerk response to that was a protest I did not give voice to, thank Merlin. For the flash of a moment, I realized that Severus was the only one who had seen my home workshop, other than Kreacher, and that my instant protest was a desire to preserve his access as something unique, special, shared just between the two of us. But that was unnecessary, and this was the head of my guild.

"Of course, not today," he said, as if he'd caught my hesitation.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I laughed. "Just wondering if it's in any condition for visitors."

He looked around and smiled, and I realized that my shop was… had always been - both out of pride and out of necessity, pristinely clean. He caught my chagrin and waved it off. "Another day, certainly. I did not mean to presume… In any case, I was wondering what you would think about…"

And he was off, detailing the set of stirring rods he'd thought about for his nephew, requesting a commissioned set of vials for a potion-making friend of his - not Severus, he hastened to clarify for some reason, and another for his wife's perfumes, and asking my opinion of materials and process and safeguards. We talked for what turned out to be the better part of three hours. Eventually, frustrated by constantly having to pick up the conversation after one customer after the other interrupted us, he suggested dinner the following Friday, to which I consented. "Bring Severus, if you like," he said with a smile as he shook my hand at the door. "I'd be interested in his input on those potions vials as well."

The rest of the day was pleasantly busy, but not quite as much as the previous day, and I had time to consult with each customer as well as to jot down some notes as conversations inspired new ideas as well as thoughts about Geoff's commission. At the end of the day, I was pleasantly tired, but not overly so.

Severus showed up at the Crystal Cave at closing, and again, escorted me to Grimmauld Place… and every evening thereafter. I was incredibly busy replacing stock, and dealing with an ever-increasing flow of customers that did not ease up, even after _The Prophet_ stopped publishing updates about the attack and the shop's recovery. We met with Geoff and his wife for dinner that Friday, and spent an enjoyable dinner discussing the ideas Geoff and I had begun fleshing out at the Cave earlier in the week. Severus and even Geoff's wife Meredith added some interesting thoughts, and once again, Severus and Geoff had to call a halt to our discussion, as I dove deeply into thoughts and plans and ideas, laughing when they insisted perhaps I should take time for sleep.

Every evening, Severus took me home, and we ate and talked, played wizard's chess or discussed his research or some potion… Often enough, he would follow me into the workshop, and watch as I worked crystal and glass. Sometimes, he would brew a potion I needed for annealing or for tempering the materials once they were worked, or for imbuing them with characteristics that would protect or enhance their intended contents. We worked on Geoff's commission together that way, and were pleased with the outcome - as was Geoff, who asked rather pointedly if we had written up our notes on the process. I gathered he expected me - or perhaps both Severus and me jointly - to present on the topic at the next meeting in the States.

At times, we would floo to Severus' home so that he could check some reference, or lend me a book from his private library. If he was busy with brewing or research, he set me to chopping or stirring, welcoming me to his lab as I had welcomed him to mine. He became integrated into my days in ways that almost hurt, because I realized I was coming to rely on it, to rely on him being there.

Severus, in my home, in my life, in his home, welcoming me as if I had every right to be there. I knew it couldn't last. One day, I knew, he would tell me he was leaving on a trip, and come home with some other man, who would sit across from him at dinner, talking with him – more intelligently than I could – about his research, or playing chess by the fire.

I started to study him – more than before, I mean – so that I could store up images and impressions and the feel and scent and sense of the man, against the time when he would decide I no longer needed mollycoddling and could reasonably be left alone, so that he could return to his life. I memorized his hands, his voice, his eyes, when he got lost in telling about his latest research. I ran my fingers across the books in his library, jealous of each one that had felt the touch of his hands, his fingers lingering over them, caressing their spines and edges, treating them with gentle care, arguing with them… loving them. Severus' home held me ever more closely, and leaving at the end of an evening was ever more difficult.

I wanted to stay. Or for him to stay. I wanted to just… belong. With him. To him. Every time I floo'd in, whether with him or at his invitation, was bittersweet. Gods, I wanted to stay!

It never turned romantic. Every time his hand or arm or thigh brushed mine, I ached – both physically and mentally and… I just wanted to touch him. On purpose. Openly. I wanted him to let me. I wanted to have the right, the privilege. But he was always careful, always, always bloody respectful. On the one hand, it soothed me, because I still startled whenever anyone stood behind me, and got tense whenever anyone touched me, even Ron or his father. I thought, more than once, that he was touching me deliberately, in an effort to help me get over the effects of the attack.

On the other hand, it drove me crazy. I didn't want _respectful _from Severus. I wanted his touch… and not therapeutically, damn it! I wanted him to… to touch me. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted permission to… to lean in, to hold his hand, to kiss his neck… I wanted to know what his hands would feel like on my face, what his lips would feel like on mine. Oh Merlin, please!

I just wanted to… be in his life. Forever.

Ron and Hermione's wedding drew nearer, and my evenings and weekends were sometimes taken up with reassuring Ron, helping him select his wedding robes, reassuring him, talking him through his wedding vows, reassuring him, talking him out of hexing his brothers, who were teasing him mercilessly, and reassuring him. We were sometimes joined by Severus, who would hide his smirk from Ron – but not from me, since I could read him so well, by then – and talk reassuringly. It was a measure of Ron's nervousness that he never even objected, but took the sometimes sarcastic comments Severus made as serious advice, nodding as he stared off into space.

One evening, the three of us sat over glasses of fire whiskey at a wizarding establishment Severus had picked out. I excused myself to the loo, and came back to find them with heads bent together, so deep in discussion that I lingered at the bar, so as not to interrupt. When I finally rejoined them, Ron looked the most clear-eyed and… settled… that I had seen him in weeks.

"You're looking better, mate. What did he tell you?" I asked, when Severus went to settle the bill.

"Oh – nothing. He just… he had some good advice… about… you know… love… and commitment, and all that."

"Really?" I watched Severus head back to the table. He _would _be an expert on that, too, I thought wryly.

Ron refused to elaborate, even later, but all of his anxiety seemed to melt away, and he looked forward to his wedding day, eager and at peace, though for some reason, he kept looking at me contemplatively.

Hermione was just as anxious, though Ginny - who was standing up for her - and Mrs. Granger had most of the responsibility of reassuring her. Molly, of course, was nearly frantic with the planning, though she was so very clearly accepting of Hermione that I don't think her hectic approach bothered Hermione much. Hermione showed up at the shop a couple times a week for tea, to get away from it all, and inevitably, we would end up talking about Ron, and about our years at school, and, especially, our year on the run, before Voldemort was finally vanquished. Her eyes would glow as she talked about Ron, and I knew theirs was a love that would never be broken.

I guess some of my… wishing… would show on my face, because, often, she would reach across the counter, and put her hand on my arm, and say, "Oh, Harry… it will be alright. You'll see," and I'd have to hide the aching of my heart and smile at her and tell her I was all right.

"I'm not jealous, Hermione," I insisted one day.

"I know, Harry. But… you'll find love. I know you will. And besides… you still have to have your dance with Severus," she said, dimpling.

I groaned. "I don't know," I said. "I think I blew that opportunity."

"There's still the wedding, Harry."

"Yeah…" I said glumly. Somehow, my anticipation that Severus would decide he was done chaperoning my evenings became tied up with the impending wedding, and I dreaded it, convinced that the wedding would be the marker event that would prompt him to… release me.

The Saturday before the wedding was the rehearsal, and Molly insisted we each bring our dates. Severus showed up at The Crystal Cave just before closing, dressed casually, as Molly had instructed. Before the rehearsal itself, we would be erecting the tent and warding the space, as we had done for Bill's wedding, years earlier, and for George and Angelina's wedding, two years past.

I closed up the shop, letting Severus lock the doors and check the wards, as was becoming his ritual. The day of the wedding, we'd have to Apparate to a spot outside the wards that surrounded the Burrow, because there would be too many people attending for floo safety, but this night, we stepped out of the fireplace in the Weasley's living room, into the warmth and laughter and welcome of twelve Weasleys-and-dates, Hermione's parents, and the officiant. Arthur directed the seventeen of us in raising the tent and setting the wards, and then the officiant put us through our paces. George had provided a fake bouquet, spelled to burst into a rainbow of colorful paper birds that flew at Ron before whirling up to the top of the tent and perching on support ropes, fake rings that temporarily turned Ron and Hermione's fingers green, and sufficient other hijinks to relieve any lingering anxiety, courtesy of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Even Molly laughed.

The rehearsal, though, made my chest ache, glad as I was for my best friends, and I had to fight to keep my attention on the officiant, rather than seeking out Severus, who sat talking with Ron and Hermione's parents about something that had all of them laughing. Andromeda Tonks showed up shortly before we were done, with Teddy and Victoire. She handed the baby off to Bill, and released Teddy to run up to me, his arms held up, calling, "Uncle Harry!" I think his touch was the only one that did not make me startle or tense up in self-defense, anticipating the need to hex someone, still anxious after the attack.

I hoisted Teddy up and he wrapped his arms around my neck, and planted a wet kiss on my cheek. I held onto him tightly, burying my face in his hair, letting the warmth of that soothe me. When I turned to follow Andromeda with my eyes, Severus was watching me. I smiled – a bit uncertainly, I think, and he nodded at me, his eyes warm and understanding. I busied myself playing finger games with Teddy, using small bits of magic to amuse him, laughing at the changes in his hair and eyes, as he reacted.

Teddy sat on one side of me at dinner, and Severus on the other. The table, set in the backyard and protected against the cool of the season by warming charms, was crowded, the nineteen of us packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Severus' warm thigh pressed against mine every time he turned to pass a dish. I craved it, even though it made me tense up. Was it fear or desire? I couldn't tell. I thought they might be entwined, when it came to him.

"Uncle Harry, taters!" Teddy demanded, pointing across me, down the table.

Severus reached his long arm to nab the dish from in front of Ginny, who sat to his left. "Allow me," he said, and waved Teddy's dish to hover in front of him. He placed a dollop of potatoes on the plate, and leaned forward to raise an eyebrow to Teddy in inquiry.

"More!" Teddy said, clapping his hands.

"Hmm…" Severus said, considering Teddy's plate. He added a mere drop to the scoop of potatoes already on the plate, and before Teddy could demand more, he waved the serving spoon as if it were a wand, and the potatoes rose off the plate and shifted around until they formed the shape of a dragon. Teddy squealed in delight. "Ah-ah!" Severus said when I would have taken the plate to hand to my godson, and transfigured the dish to form a cave around the "dragon".

Teddy clapped his hands and said, "Gimme!"

Severus narrowed his eyes at him significantly.

"Pwease, Uncle Sev'rus?"

The startled look on Severus' face made me laugh. He hesitated a moment, and then carefully hovered dragon and cave to land in front of Teddy, reaching across me to tap the toddler on the arm when he raised a spoon to attack it.

"What do you say to Uncle Sev'rus, young man?" I said, barely containing my mirth.

"T'ank you, Uncle Sev'rus," the boy said in a sweet voice before diving his spoon toward his treat.

Severus had leaned toward Teddy, so that when I turned my head toward him, his face was inches from mine, and my lips parted in a gasp at the intensity of the look he gave me. His cheeks took on a high color, and he lowered his arm, brushing against mine, and then I felt the brush of his fingers against my thigh. My body instantly reacted, and I gasped again, not able to pull my eyes from his until a spoonful of dragon landed on the table in front of us.

_Please!_

_No!_

_Oh, gods – I'm so fucked up!_

_Please, Severus!_

Dinner took forever… ended too soon… my body was ringing like struck crystal with every accidental - it _was _accidental, wasn't it? - touch of Severus' body against mine.

I'd made Ron and Hermione a set of crystal goblets, spelled against poisons, but allowing alcohol, for their wedding. They had pale amethyst bowls that blended into deep emerald stems and bases, the colors Hermione, Molly, and Ginny had chosen for the wedding. They were the first goblets I had made, after my mastery, and I was pleased with how they had come out, made with all the love and joy I felt for my friends. I could tell Hermione loved them – she said so, for one thing, and squealed and hugged me, for another. Ron held them as if they were worth all the galleons in Gringott's, and kept saying, "Wow, Harry!" Others said complementary things, as well, but it was only those responses that mattered to me. Severus had watched me make them, and he looked almost as proprietarily pleased by their reactions as I was, and turned to look at me, giving an approving nod. I thought I felt his hand against my thigh again, but a moment later, he was lifting his napkin to his lips, and I wondered if I had imagined it.

Around eleven, Severus escorted me home through the floo, and I stood awkwardly in front of him, outside my fireplace, wanting to… say something… take some next step… but not knowing, for the life of me, what that next step would be… or whether he would tolerate it, let alone welcome it… let alone reciprocate… let alone whether I had the courage to do it. There was silence for what seemed like forever, Severus' body tense across from mine. Finally, he broke it.

"I… will see you in the morning, then."

"Yeah. Um… ten o'clock, right?"

His fingers were clenching and unclenching, for some reason. I was fascinated by them.

"Oh. Ah – floo powder. Right there." I gestured toward the box, thinking, _Idiot! He knows where the floo powder is!_

His fingers opened and closed again… and then he stepped back, and I breathed again, though I practically whimpered in frustration and loss. He reached for the box of floo powder, took a scant handful, and softly said, "I will see you at ten, then… Harry."

I nodded without looking at him, and waited until the burst of green flames and his softly spoken "Snape's Lair" indicated he had gone, before stumbling to the sofa and collapsing on it, my head in my hands.

_What am I doing?_

_Severus… dear god…_

I wanted him. I mean – I knew that. I had wanted him for a long time… but I wanted him despite the attack and what it had done to me… despite my fear… despite the fact that I could not distinguish want and fear when it came to Severus Snape… despite that I could not distinguish fear due to the attack and fear due to how very much out of my depth I was, or how very much my desires were controlling my thoughts, my eyes, my cock, my hands…

My hands shook as I opened my trousers and palmed my aching cock. I came in three tugs, hissing his name in some prayer to the universe to take pity on me.

_Gods… I'm a demon! I want to do to him what Mario tried to do to me! What kind of sick pervert…_

_NO!_

_No. That's not true. I… I want… I want to love him… I want him to love me. I want… I want what we have, except… I want him, too. I just… I just want to touch him._

_Don't lie, Potter. You want him to bugger you._

_Oh, god…_

I think I sat for an hour, trying to figure out the difference between what Mario had tried to do to me and what I wanted… with… Severus.

It was love, of course. Finally, I realized that what I wanted with Severus was love… and friendship… and belonging… and family… And even if that's what Mario had wanted, he had tried to take it, whereas… I wanted Severus to… invite me… want me… Gods, I wanted to dance with the man!

_Please, Severus! Oh, please, Hermione – be right!_

I made my way to my bedroom and showered, thinking about how much, how very much, I truly loved the man… But that led to thinking about his warm eyes, and the support of his hand at my back, and sleeping a meter away from him in Paris, and the way he…

I wanked under the warm spray until I came again, then climbed into bed… where I tossed and turned and thought of how very, very much I wanted to kiss the man… or just lean into him… thought of his warm thigh rubbing against mine… thought of his hand on my leg – not accidentally – right? – thought of his stunned face when Teddy called him "Uncle Sev'rus," thought of what he looked like in candlelight and firelight and sunlight and the light of potions classrooms past, and laughed as I stroked myself until I came again, for the third time, finally falling asleep thinking of how his face had softened and pinked as he interacted with my godson.


End file.
